The Twentieth Amendment
by lcf328
Summary: When tragedy strikes on the eve of Matt Santos' inauguration, it precipitates a constitutional crisis and a struggle for control of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. JD. Warning: Character Deaths
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own the characters from The West Wing.

**Warning: Character Death(s)!**

**A/N:** I'm a Santos fan and I hated to do this to him, but the "what if" scenario had been kicking around in my head long enough that I decided to write a fic about it. Also, I know the initial premise is partially similar to Jayne Leigh's excellent stories: _Two Administrations, Two Families_ and _A Whole New Story_, but the rest of the fic should be quite a bit different.

Also, I'm not a constitutional lawyer, or any kind of lawyer for that matter. I did as much research as I could, but the bottom line is that this story still simply represents a guess as to what might happen in a situation like this. Hopefully the United States will never have occasion to find out whether or not I was right.

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_If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President. If a President shall not have been chosen before the time fixed for the beginning of his term, or if the President elect shall have failed to qualify, then the Vice President elect shall act as President until a President shall have qualified; and the Congress may by law provide for the case wherein neither a President elect nor a Vice President elect shall have qualified, declaring who shall then act as President, or the manner in which one who is to act shall be selected, and such person shall act accordingly until a President or Vice President shall have qualified. __**~~Twentieth Amendment to the US Constitution, Section 3.**_

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_"Thank you. Thank you all so much."_ Josh half-listened as President-Elect Santos acknowledged the thunderous applause from the crowd, as he walked onto the stage for an inauguration eve concert and rally at the Carter Barron Amphitheater. Several well-known musical acts had already performed, but while they had certainly been well-received, it was the speech by the young, charismatic president-in-waiting that people had waited in line for hours to see. The crowd was at capacity, and people who couldn't get tickets were gathered outside the venue trying to get a glimpse of the President-Elect, or at least hear the address. The temperature was well below freezing, but no one seemed to care. Josh was standing along the right side of the amphitheater, about 30 yards from the stage, answering emails on his BlackBerry and confirming last-minute plans for the upcoming big day.

_"Tomorrow at noon, this country will have a new President. I will do my best to fill President Bartlet's very large shoes and continue to lead this nation forward. But I can't do it alone. I will need all of you. I will need you to participate in your democracy, advocate for the issues you care about, and let me know about it when you think I'm making a mistake. If the voice of the people is to be heard, you all have to speak."_

_He's good,_ Josh thought appreciatively, paying attention even as he continued to fiddle with his BlackBerry. Otto had done an excellent job with the speech. Josh felt a twinge of guilt for having strung Otto along for as long as he had before telling him he would be getting a job on the speechwriting staff in the Santos administration.

For one second, Josh thought he must have imagined the sound of gunshots that suddenly pierced the air. He hadn't had a flashback to Rosslyn in years, but there had been music playing a few minutes ago, so he supposed anything was possible. But a look around him, at the terrified reactions of the people in the crowd and the frantic scrambling of Secret Service agents, soon confirmed to him that this was very real.

_Oh God. Oh God._ Josh stuffed his BlackBerry in his pocket and ran toward the stage, desperately scanning the scene in front of him for any sign of the President-Elect. _He's okay, _he tried to reassure himself. _He has to be. The agents would have gotten him down in time._ It was a painfully slow process making his way through the panicked crowd, with some people running in the opposite direction, others trying to take cover under their chairs, and many doing as he was and approaching the stage to see what had happened. Josh had finally reached the stage and was about to head up the stairs when he was stopped by a Secret Service agent.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

"I'm Josh Lyman. I'm President-Elect Santos' incoming Chief of Staff. Tell me what happened."

The agent hesitated for a moment. He must be new; Josh didn't recognize him, and he was familiar with most of the agents on the President-Elect's detail. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to-"

Josh was about to play the "I have the diplomatic rank of a three-star general" card when Ron Butterfield walked up to them, his face ashen. Josh felt his stomach clench in fear.

"Ron. What happened?"

Ron approached him and spoke quietly. "The President-Elect has been shot twice in the chest."

Josh went numb. This wasn't happening. "Is he…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Ron hesitated a moment. "They're doing everything they can for him."

_Everything they can for him._ Josh's mind raced. That sounded dire. On the other hand, at least it meant he was alive. "Can I see him?"

"I think a familiar face could only do him good. Come on." Agent Butterfield put a hand on Josh's shoulder and quickly led him to the backstage area where the President-Elect was already on a gurney, being tended to by paramedics.

"Mr. Pres…Sir…" Josh was suddenly at a loss for how to address his boss at a time like this.

"Call me Matt," came the feeble voice from the gurney.

For once, Josh didn't argue with that instruction. He stood as close as he could to him without interfering with the medical team. He felt nauseated, and he knew it wasn't just the sight of the blood and the paramedics working. "Matt. You're going to be fine."

Matt didn't seem to hear him. "Miranda…Peter…I won't…get to…see them…"

"Yes, you will. Matt, listen to me, you're going to have the best doctors in the world taking care of you. I mean, these guys are miracle workers, believe me, I know from experience. You're going to get through this."

"Helen…" he moaned brokenly.

"She'll be waiting for you at the hospital."

Matt turned his face slightly so that his eyes met Josh's. "Josh, thank you. For everything," he whispered, speaking clearly becoming a tremendous effort. "Been…a hell of a ride."

Josh's knees nearly gave out at those words. "No. Matt, no. You can't give up. You have to fight."

"I'm losing his pulse!"

"Starting chest compressions…"

Josh shut his eyes in anguish as the paramedics sprang into action. Ron placed a hand on his arm and led him out of the curtained-off area where Matt was being treated.

"Ron…" Josh whispered, tears in his eyes.

"His injuries are very severe, Josh. I think you need to prepare yourself for the worst."

"No." He refused to even think it. "They'll save him. They have to. That's the President-Elect of the United States they have in there!" Josh's voice rose in panic.

"You don't think they know that, Josh?"

"How the hell did this happen?" Josh found himself turning on Ron in anger. Even in his frantic state, he felt a pang of guilt for doing so, but it wasn't enough to stop him. "How does someone get a gun past you guys into the crowd, hold it up, aim it, and pull the trigger _twice_? Your _one job_ is to keep him safe, and you blew it! Rosslyn, Zoey, and now this...I gotta tell you, I'm starting to think Secret Service protection just ain't all it's cracked up to be."

If Ron had any emotional reaction to Josh's outburst, his face didn't reveal it. "There will be a thorough investigation as to what happened. You should know that we apprehended the shooter almost immediately after the incident. Our gut instinct so far is that he probably didn't act alone, so we're looking for accomplices."

"You have the shooter?" That news got Josh's attention. "Who is he? I mean…why…?"

"We don't know that yet. He's being questioned as we speak."

Josh ran his fingers through his hair. "Ron, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I know this wasn't your fault."

He shook his head. "Josh, believe me, every question you just asked will be looked into thoroughly when we investigate this. You're absolutely right. The fact that our protectee has two bullets in his chest means that we dropped the ball somewhere. We're going to find out where."

The two men stood in silence for awhile. Josh wasn't sure how long they'd been waiting when one of the paramedics approached them.

"I'm sorry," the young man whispered, shock evident on his face. "We did everything we could. The bullets did too much damage. He never really had a chance." Just to make sure there was no room for misinterpretation, he concluded: "President-Elect Matthew Santos was pronounced dead about thirty seconds ago."

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"It all still seems so bizarre," Helen Santos commented to Donna as they sat together in a living room at the Blair House. Officially, they were finalizing plans for their first days in the East Wing. But unofficially, they were getting to know each other and enjoying a little bit of 'girl time'. Donna already felt that in addition to being her boss, Helen Santos could end up becoming one of her closest friends. "This time tomorrow, my husband will be President of the United States and I'll be the First Lady. If someone had told me a year and a half ago that one day I'd be saying those words, do you know how hard I would have laughed?"

"I can imagine."

"When Matt first told me Josh had asked him to run, I did laugh," Helen remembered. "I suppose it sounded rude. I didn't mean it that way. It's just – it was so far from anything I'd ever even considered. I mean, even him being a United States Congressman seemed a little surreal. But President? My Matt? The guy who can't even consistently remember to put the toilet seat down?"

"The toilet seat, huh?" Donna smiled. "I have a feeling I'm going to be learning all kinds of juicy tidbits about the leader of the free world in this job."

They were interrupted by two Secret Service agents bursting through the door.

"This building is in lockdown. Mrs. Santos, stay away from the windows," one agent announced as the other quickly closed the drapes.

"What's going on?" Helen asked.

"This is one of the things you'll have to get used to once you're living in the White House," Donna told her, unconcerned. "It happens all the time over there. Some genius pledging a fraternity jumps the fence, or sometimes someone with mental health issues..." her voice trailed off when she saw the looks on the agents' faces. "What?"

There was a tense silence. "Due to an increased threat level, we've been instructed to lock down the building and secure Mrs. Santos and the children," one of them hedged.

"What happened?" Helen asked.

The agents glanced at each other nervously. A second later, they were talking in hushed voices in their earpieces. Whatever the agents heard, it clearly shook them.

"What's going on? Tell us." Donna demanded in alarm. Whatever had happened, it was clearly far from trivial.

"Is Matt okay?" Helen wasn't quite sure what had prompted her to ask that, but the looks on the agents' faces when she did made her blood run cold.

One of the agents drew a deep breath. "President-Elect Santos was shot twice in the chest at the rally this evening."

"Oh God," Helen gasped. Donna got up from her seat and rushed to Helen's side, wrapping both arms around her. "Is he going to be okay? Where are they taking him? I have to go to the hospital. You can't make me stay here." She got up and headed toward the door, only making it a few steps before she was stopped by the agents.

"Mrs. Santos," one of the agents looked her in the eye.

"No-" all the color drained from her face.

"Mrs. Santos, your husband was pronounced dead within minutes of the shooting. I'm very sorry."

Helen lost the ability to stand. She managed to stumble toward the sofa before collapsing onto it. Donna sat down beside her again and held her, herself reeling with shock and horror. And then another awful thought pushed through. Josh had been at the rally.

"Is there…anyone else hurt?" She managed to get out.

"Not as far as we know."

Somehow, Donna didn't find that comforting. After he'd been shot at Rosslyn, Josh had slumped unnoticed against a wall for too many precious minutes before Toby had found him. People had assumed he'd gotten into one of the cars and was safe, and he'd nearly died.

"Josh Lyman?" she choked back tears, still trying to wrap her mind around the news of the President-Elect's death even as she desperately needed to know that Josh was alright. Physically, at least.

"We have no reports of any other injuries at this time. That's all I know for sure."

Donna closed her eyes. She continued to hold Helen, who hadn't said a word since the agent had broken the news. She leaned against Donna, shaking, her eyes wet with tears that had yet to fall.

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Josh stared at the paramedic in horror, unable to speak. He leaned against a supporting beam to steady himself.

"I'm sorry," the paramedic mumbled before returning to the area where Matt Santos had been treated. Josh and Ron each stared straight ahead for a long moment, absorbing the news.

"Mrs. Santos…someone has to tell…" Josh finally managed to stammer.

"Her agents are telling her. Blair House was put into lockdown as a precaution, as was the White House and the Capitol Building. We just can't be sure if this was an isolated incident or part of a larger attack, and we're not taking any chances."

"His family in Houston…his parents…"

"If you don't want them to hear about it on the news, you should probably make sure they're notified immediately."

As if to emphasize the point, a group of reporters who had just been allowed access to the backstage area by the Secret Service rushed toward him. He knew that news of the shooting would have hit the airwaves instantly; in fact, he suddenly realized, it had undoubtedly been captured live by all the cable networks carrying the President-Elect's speech. But he couldn't let them report that Matt had died, not until he was sure his relatives had been notified.

"Josh, we've just been told that the President-Elect has been pronounced dead," a reporter spoke softly but firmly. "Do you want to comment before we break the news?"

"Please, all of you," he turned to the press pool. "Hold off a few minutes until we can make sure his family is notified."

"How long is that going to take?" another reporter demanded.

"I said a few minutes."

"Josh, this is an event of huge significance to the nation. You can't expect us to sit on it."

"For the love of God, aren't any of you human beings? Can't you give me five minutes so I can make sure his mother doesn't find out about this on the news?"

"Three minutes. And if it breaks anywhere before then, we all run it."

"Fine." Josh got his phone out of his pocket. He was pretty sure Donna was with Mrs. Santos. He dialed her cell phone number.

"Donna?"

"Josh! Oh God, I'm so glad to hear your voice." He felt tears form in his eyes at her words.

"Donna, I hate to even – someone needs to call the President-Elect's family in Houston. It's going to be on the news in literally a couple minutes, and I don't want-"

"We know," she said softly. "Mrs. Santos is on the phone now with his mother."

Josh took a breath. "How is she? Mrs. Santos?"

"In shock."

"Yeah."

"How are you?" Donna asked.

"I'm fine."

Donna knew that was a lie. "Josh-"

"Donna, listen, I can't talk now. I have to – I'll call you later, okay?"

She sighed. "Okay."

He hung up the phone and walked toward the waiting press pool. "Okay. Thanks for waiting, guys."

"Would you like to make a statement, Josh?" There was a note of kindness in the reporter's voice.

Would he like to? Not hardly. But he supposed it was probably expected of him. He turned toward the cameras and spoke into the outstretched microphones, struggling to maintain his composure as he mumbled something about the awfulness of the situation and asked all Americans to keep the Santos family in their prayers.

"Josh!" A reporter called out.

"No questions." He started to walk away.

"Josh, there's currently no President-Elect and no Vice President-Elect, and President Bartlet's term is over at noon tomorrow. Would you say this qualifies as a constitutional crisis?"

It was the question that had been festering in the back of his mind since the shooting. He'd been desperately trying to think back to his Constitutional Law classes at Yale. If Santos had already been sworn in, it would be clear; the Speaker of the House would replace him. But if he remembered right, the rules weren't quite so simple in the case of a President-Elect's death. It had never happened before, he knew that much. A President-Elect had never died before taking office, let alone without a Vice President-Elect in place.

Josh ignored the reporter's question and continued to walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

Josh sat in the back of a taxi, which was very slowly making its way toward the transition offices at the OEOB after having left the Carter Barron Amphitheater. The heightened security level meant that traffic was at a standstill. He had thought about going back to his apartment, but that would be an even longer drive, and besides, he felt he needed to be at the transition offices, in case…well, in case he was needed, he supposed. What he would be needed for now, he wasn't sure.

As they drove, he read the news feeds on his BlackBerry. It seemed that all of Matt Santos' former political rivals were in a race to be the first to issue a statement expressing their shock and sadness. There was one from Russell, from Hoynes, from Mr. Sclerotic himself Ray Sullivan, even from all three of the Republicans Matt had run against in his congressional races. And of course, there was one from Arnold Vinick. Josh read through Vinick's statement:

_"This past summer and fall, I tried as hard as I could to convince voters to elect me President of the United States instead of Matthew Santos. However, despite my best efforts, the people decided otherwise and chose Matt Santos to lead this country for the next four years. When they did so, they selected a man of great intellect and integrity, a man who – though I disagreed with him on many important issues – I came to greatly respect during the course of our campaign. That someone decided he had the right to veto last November's election results with a bullet is nothing less than a subversion of our democracy. I hope, and firmly believe, that any and all individuals responsible for this vicious crime will be swiftly apprehended and brought to justice. In the meantime, I offer my deepest sympathies to his lovely wife Helen and their two beautiful children." _

It was a good statement, Josh thought. He supposed he could chalk it up to the fact that he was so close to the edge mentally at the moment, but for the first time since…well, ever…he felt a wave of affection for Arnold Vinick.

Nearly an hour later, Josh finally arrived at the OEOB and opened the door to the transition offices. He stood in the doorway for a moment, unprepared for the wave of emotion that came over him as he gazed at the familiar office space, where only a few hours ago he and Matt had been reviewing the speech Otto had written, and Matt had treated him to one of his – not unjustified – rants about the Kazakhstan situation that was about to be dropped in his lap. That had been just moments before they'd gotten into the motorcade and headed to the rally.

"Damnit!" Josh yelled, slamming his hand against the door frame hard enough that he was pretty sure it would leave a bruise.

He was startled by a scream coming from the other end of the office. An office chair spun and for the first time he noticed Ronna sitting at her desk. Even from across the room, he could see the tears running down her face.

"Sorry," she choked, getting up from the chair.

Josh walked over to her and pulled her into a long hug. After he released her, she sat back down in her seat and he pulled up a chair and sat next to her.

"I was here late finishing up some things for tomorrow," she told him in a raspy voice. "And I had the TV on, and they were showing the rally…"

Oh God. She'd seen it live.

She continued: "And all of a sudden, he was on the floor. I didn't know what had happened at first. I thought maybe he'd somehow tripped, or fainted, or something. Then a second later the Secret Service was carrying him off the stage, and the news anchor started talking about shots having been fired, and then…" she paused and took a shaky breath. "The camera panned in to the…the blood on the floor where he'd fallen."

Josh felt a wave of disgust. Didn't those people have any sense of decency? He reached over and rubbed her shoulder.

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally Ronna spoke.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's going to…I mean…there's no…who's going to be President at noon tomorrow?" she finally asked. "I mean, at first I assumed it would be the Speaker of the House, but I looked it up and I'm not sure it's so clear. The 20th amendment seems to kick the whole question to Congress. It says…" she began reading from her computer screen, where Josh noticed that the text of the amendment was already displayed, "'_If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President…_" she skipped over a few lines to the next relevant sentence, "_'…and Congress may by law provide for the case wherein neither a President elect nor a Vice President elect shall have qualified, declaring who shall then act as President…' – _I mean, I assume 'qualified' would include…you know…"

"Breathing? Yeah, I guess you'd have to be to take the oath," Josh finished. He suddenly hoped that hadn't sounded insensitive. Then again, it was going to be hard to discuss any of this without sounding insensitive.

"So is Congress going to have to come up with something in the next…" she paused and glanced at the clock, "14 hours or so?"

"No, I don't think so," Josh had been googling these questions on his BlackBerry as well on the drive over. He guessed 'presidential succession' would probably be far and away the most searched term on the internet tonight. "The Presidential Succession Act says that if the President-Elect and Vice President-Elect have both…failed to qualify…the Speaker of the House will serve as acting president until a president or vice president qualifies. As opposed to the normal rules of succession, where if a sitting President were to die without a VP, the Speaker would serve out the rest of the term."

"Until a president or vice president qualifies. What in the world does that mean?"

"I'm guessing it means there'll be a special election, but who knows? We're kind of in uncharted territory here."

"Nothing like writing clear, concise laws so that there'll be no ambiguity when a crisis hits."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Josh's phone rang. The caller ID was one he couldn't refuse.

"This is Josh Lyman."

"Please hold for the President of the United States," he heard Debbie's voice on the other end of the line.

"Josh," Jed Bartlet's kind voice came through the line a second later.

"Mr. President." He noticed Ronna glance in his direction when she heard that.

"Josh, I don't know what to say. I hope you know we're all absolutely devastated here."

"I do. Thanks."

"How are you holding up?"

He swallowed. "I'm fine."

"That's a load of crap and we both know it. Josh, I want you to come to the White House. You shouldn't be alone tonight. None of us should."

"Ronna's here. We're at the transition offices."

"Bring her over too, of course."

"Ron told me the White House was crashed."

"Yeah, they finally called the all clear. Come on over, okay?"

"Of course, sir."

He hung up the phone and turned to Ronna. "The President wants us to come over to the White House."

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CJ greeted Josh and Ronna with warm hugs as soon as they arrived at the West Wing entrance. She led them through the hallway toward the Oval Office.

"Have you talked to Mrs. Santos?" Josh asked quietly as they walked.

"The President called her. Donna's with her at the Blair House. We invited them here, of course, but Mrs. Santos doesn't feel like being around a lot of people right now. Can't say I blame her."

"Yeah," Josh nodded.

"Have you ever been to the Oval Office?" CJ asked Ronna.

"No." She felt a fresh pang of grief. She'd spent the last few months trying to mentally prepare herself for what it would be like to work next door to the Oval Office, interacting with the President of the United States – President Santos – on a daily basis. She'd had an orientation scheduled for the next morning with Debbie, to go over all the details of the job. And now…

Josh seemed to sense how she was feeling and rubbed her shoulder lightly as they walked into the Oval.

"Josh." President Bartlet walked up to him and gave him one-armed hug, holding onto his cane with his other hand. Abbey Bartlet stood beside her husband. "I'd ask how you're doing, but I'm afraid you might say 'fine' again, and I don't like people lying to me in the Oval Office." His voice was kind and sympathetic.

"I'm…I'm hanging in there," Josh told him.

"Good." He then turned to Ronna and held her hand for a moment. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I know you and the President-Elect were close."

"Thank you, sir."

Abbey also hugged both Josh and Ronna, and they all took seats on the sofas. They'd sat together in silence for a moment when there was a knock at the door.

"Sir?" Will Bailey stepped into the Oval. Behind him was Cliff Calley.

"Yeah."

Will approached him and handed him some papers. "Here's a draft for your address to the nation. Let me know if there's anything you'd like changed."

The President looked over the speech. "How soon do you think I should give it?"

"As soon as possible. People need to be reassured that we're going to have a functioning Executive Branch come tomorrow."

"Cliff?" Jed looked over at him.

"I've been on the phone with members of Congress since it happened," he reported. "Everyone is awake and heading back to their offices. The House and Senate are hoping to pass a unanimous resolution tonight affirming that in accordance with the Presidential Succession Act, Speaker Sellner will assume the duties of the presidency on an acting basis at noon. Not that a resolution is actually necessary, but everyone seems to feel it's important as far as giving Sellner legitimacy."

"On an acting basis…meaning until…" Josh prompted, wondering if the US Congress agreed with the hasty analysis he'd given Ronna.

"Congress is hoping to have legislation by the end of the week addressing that. Most likely, there'll be a special election of some sort."

"By the end of the week," President Bartlet shook his head. "If they pull that off, to say it'll be the fastest I've ever seen them act in my eight years here would be an understatement."

"Congress has been known to act very quickly in times of crisis," CJ pointed out.

"Yes, often at the expense of well thought-out legislation," Abbey added.

"Alright." The President nodded. "This looks fine. Will, get it in the teleprompter and let the briefing room know I'll be addressing the nation within the next ten minutes."

"Yes, sir." Will nodded and turned to leave, but before he did so he stopped and stood in front of Josh.

"Josh, I – I don't know what to say. I'm really sorry." The pained look on his face emphasized the sincerity of his words. Relations between Josh and Will had been somewhat strained ever since the primary battle. But none of that mattered anymore.

"Thanks," Josh replied simply.

Will patted his shoulder and continued toward the door, with Cliff following behind.

"Sellner," Josh shook his head. "The President-Elect didn't want Sellner as Speaker. He wanted to push for Fields, or even Marino. I talked him out of it."

"You did the right thing," Jed emphasized. "It would have been a huge political mistake for him to interfere in the Speaker's race."

"Yeah," Josh replied absently, thinking how utterly meaningless such political calculations seemed now.

"At least we took back the House, so he's a Democrat," CJ offered.

"A special election hands the presidency to Vinick," Josh said flatly. He wasn't sure he even cared anymore.

"Think the Democrats will fight it?" CJ asked.

"They wouldn't dare," Abbey opined. "Playing politics on the heels of a national tragedy, not to mention opposing something as thoroughly democratic as an election? They'd tarnish our reputation for years to come."

"Sir?" Will popped his head into the Oval again. "The briefing room is ready for you whenever you are."

"Thanks, Will." Jed nodded and stood up, leaning on his cane for support. Josh couldn't help but think that he looked old – older than he'd looked even a few days ago when Josh had last seen him. The events of the past couple of hours seemed to have aged him years.

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_"'America has lost a giant tonight,'_" Jed Bartlet began, standing in front of a packed briefing room. _"Those words were spoken just a few short months ago by Matthew Santos regarding the death of my dear friend, the man who was just hours away from becoming Vice President-Elect of the United States, Leo McGarry. What a cruel irony that tonight, on the eve of Matt Santos' inauguration as President of the United States, we would have to speak those same words about him. Matthew Vincente Santos represented everything that's best about this country. He didn't come from money or privilege, but he worked hard, and he dedicated his life to serving his country: in the United States Marines, on the Houston city council, as mayor of Houston, in the House of Representatives, as a candidate for President, and finally as President-Elect of the United States. He shattered barriers by becoming the first Latino to be elected President of this great country. Words cannot express our grief at his loss, nor our outrage at the person or persons who carried out this despicable act. The alleged shooter is in custody. He will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and if we find that he not act alone, rest assured that any and all co-conspirators will also be found and brought to justice. To quote from the statement issued by Arnold Vinick, Matt Santos' opponent in the general election as well as his Secretary of State-designate: 'That someone decided he had the right to veto last November's election results with a bullet is nothing less than a subversion of our democracy'. Truer words were never spoken. I know I join all of America in offering my prayers and deepest condolences to his wife Helen, their two children Peter and Miranda, and all those who loved him._

_"Understandably, there is concern in light of these tragic events about the transfer of presidential power that will occur tomorrow. The remarkable thing about this nation is that our Constitution and our laws provide for the continuity of our government even under the most dire of circumstances. In accordance with the Presidential Succession Act, tomorrow at noon Speaker of the House Mark Sellner will be sworn in as acting President. He will serve in that capacity until such a time as a president can be fairly chosen to serve out the remainder of the term. Congress will pass legislation detailing that process, and has promised swift action in this regard."…_

Helen Santos watched the President's address on television. Miranda and Peter were beside her on the sofa, and Donna was sitting on a chair next to her. None of this felt real yet. She still felt as if it was a bad dream from which she was going to awake at any moment, or a terrible misunderstanding, or a cruel joke. It couldn't really be happening. Matt couldn't really be gone forever.

But he was. She'd just finished the most difficult conversation of her life, telling her children the news. Miranda had started crying and screaming, while Peter had appeared dumbfounded, unable or unwilling to comprehend what had happened. "It makes no sense," he'd said over and over again. "Why would someone shoot Daddy?" She'd had no answer for that. She'd tried to reassure them that Daddy was up in Heaven with God and Jesus, and Miranda had demanded to know why God would have taken him to Heaven instead of letting him stay down here on Earth with them. She'd _really_ had no answer for that. Nothing she'd been able to think of to say to them had seemed to help even a little bit.

Now they both sat numbly, listening to the President of the United States eulogize their father. This was too much for children to have to face. She knew she was going to have to be strong and help them get through it, but she had no idea how she was going to pull that off. She felt anything but strong right then. She felt as though her world was caving in and there was nothing she could do about it.

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Donna had fresh tears in her eyes by the time she'd finished watching President Bartlet's address. She couldn't believe that this young, vibrant man – who truth be known she'd wanted to see as President even while she was still working for his opponent in the primaries – was dead. It was so cruel and unfair. She gazed at Helen and the two children. She couldn't begin to imagine what they were going through. The closest she could come to being able to relate was when Josh had been shot. But as much as she'd cared for him, they hadn't been married, and they hadn't had children together. And Josh hadn't died.

Josh…she was worried sick about Josh. He might not have been physically harmed at the rally, but what if being present at yet another shooting – in addition to the trauma of Matt Santos' death, particularly so soon after losing Leo – proved to be more than he could handle? She was going to have to make sure he called Stanley. She knew he wouldn't want to. He would rather stuff his emotions, as was his general MO. But she knew all too well where that could lead.

More than anything, though, she just wanted to be with him and hold him. She knew he wasn't alone. When the President had called, he'd talked to Donna for a moment and told her that he was planning on inviting Josh to the White House. But she needed to be there for him, and yet she couldn't be. Helen's mother was flying in from Texas, but her plane wouldn't land until the next morning, and there was no way Donna could leave her alone.

Helen, as if reading her thoughts, turned to her. "You don't have to stay," she told her quietly. "Really. I'm sure you want to be with Josh."

"He's with the President. I'll see him tomorrow. You can't honestly think I'd leave you alone at a time like this."

"I'll be fine. Really."

Donna couldn't help but smile slightly. "What do you know? You and Josh Lyman do have something in common after all."

"What's that?"

"Saying you're fine even when everyone knows it's a lie."

"Hmm. Go figure," Helen shrugged. She ran her fingers lightly through Miranda's hair, whose head was now resting in her mother's lap after she'd finally dozed off, her small cheeks still stained with tears.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. President? Speaker Sellner and his wife are here." CJ stepped into the living area of the Residence. Jed and Abbey Bartlet were sitting with Josh, who had spent the night in one of the guest bedrooms. Ronna had left late the previous night.

"Alright," Jed sighed. "I'll be down in a minute."

Josh sighed. "Can't we just…screw the Constitution and keep you on?"

"Excellent attitude for a public servant," Jed commented. "Relax, Josh. Sellner will do fine."

"Yeah, we'll see," Josh muttered. He was still wearing his suit from the previous evening. It wasn't even particularly wrinkled from having been slept in, because he hadn't slept at all that night. He'd sat in the guest room and watched the news off and on, turning the TV off whenever he couldn't take it anymore. He'd gotten phone calls from Donna, Sam, Lou, his mother, and numerous other people. It had felt good to talk to all of them, but he was getting to the point where he wasn't sure how many more sympathetic words he could handle. There weren't any words that could make the situation even a little bit better.

"Well anyway, they probably want us to clear out of the Residence soon so they can start packing," Abbey commented, getting to her feet. All of their belongings, save about a week's worth of personal items, were going to be packed up and shipped to their home in New Hampshire. She and Jed would be staying in Washington, at the Hay-Adams Hotel, until after Matt's memorial service.

"Amazing how fast it all happens," Jed commented. "Think about it. What other family in the world gets to accomplish moving day in just a few short hours, complete with a crew of dozens to do all the work for them?"

"Enjoy it, dear. It's one of your final perks of office."

Jed nodded, and they headed out of the Residence and toward the West Wing. CJ had already shown the Speaker and his wife into the Oval Office, where he would be taking the oath in just a few hours. Although everything had already been set up for Matt Santos' inauguration at the Capitol Building, it had seemed inappropriate for the Speaker to be sworn in there. It was set up for a celebration, and no one felt like celebrating. In fact, a huge impromptu vigil for Santos had already formed and was growing by the minute at the inaugural site and down the National Mall.

"Mr. President," the Speaker greeted him when they arrived. "It's an honor to be here, although I wish it were under different circumstances."

"As do we all," President Bartlet nodded somberly.

"I don't know if you've met my wife Betty."

Jed greeted her warmly. The Speaker offered words of sympathy to both Josh and Abbey before turning to CJ. "I'm going to be talking to all the West Wing staff, but I wanted to ask you first. I'd like to keep all of the Bartlet people on during my time in office, at least as many as are willing to stay. Needless to say, I'm still getting my head around all this. 24 hours ago it had never occurred to me that I'd be sitting in the Oval Office, at least not anytime soon. Maybe eight years from now, but certainly not today. Anyway, I'm going to need lots of old hands around to help me. So, for starters, CJ, would you stay on as my Chief of Staff?"

"I…" CJ hesitated. It was the last thing she wanted to do. She'd been practically salivating at the idea of moving back to California and beginning her new career doing humanitarian work. Not to mention, finally having time to build her relationship with Danny. But given the circumstances, how could she possibly refuse? Still, she hedged. She wasn't sure if Josh would want the job of Sellner's CoS – she suspected not – but she felt it was only right that he be given the opportunity. "As you know, Josh Lyman had been named as Matt Santos' Chief of Staff. He has lots of years of experience in the West Wing-"

"I want you," Speaker Sellner insisted. "No offense, Josh, I'm sure you would have been a wonderful Chief of Staff to Santos. But CJ's been in the job for almost two years now, and I need all the experience I can get."

"No offense taken, sir." He felt a twinge of discomfort at calling this man "sir". He knew it was only appropriate, given that Mark Sellner would be President of the United States in a few hours, but he still found himself disliking it.

CJ bit her lip. "Of course I'll stay if you want me to."

"Thank you so much."

"Listen, Mark, why don't Abbey and I show you and Betty around the White House?" Jed offered. "We'll give you a quick tour of the place, and you can meet some of the staff and see who all else is interested in keeping their jobs."

"I'd appreciate that, sir."

Jed, Abbey, Betty, and the Speaker walked out of the Oval, leaving CJ and Josh alone. They walked together into her office.

"You're not upset, are you?" CJ asked.

"About what?"

"You know…the Chief of Staff thing. You've spent the last two and a half months getting ready to be in that job…"

Josh shook his head. "Believe me, I was selfishly relieved that he didn't ask me. I wanted to be Matt Santos' Chief of Staff, not Mark Sellner's. And besides, he's absolutely right. He's going to be on a learning curve of monumental proportions once he takes that oath. The fact that you'll be there showing him the ropes might help me sleep a little better at night…might at least somewhat reduce the chances of him accidentally, you know, getting us into a nuclear war or something."

CJ sighed. "Yeah, well Danny's going to be thrilled when he finds out I'm not getting pushed off the cliff at high noon after all."

"I'm sure he'll understand, considering."

CJ nodded and sat down on the sofa, and Josh sat next to her. "So what do you think you're going to do next?" she asked softly.

Josh closed his eyes and shook his head. "I have no idea." He didn't add that at this point, he felt strongly as though he was probably done with politics. At least for the time being. Going through all that he had the past year…nearly losing the nomination, then nearly losing the election, Leo's death, and now…and now this – it was just too much.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," CJ called.

A brown-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-forties walked in.

"Ms. Cregg?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Agent Jill Brent with the FBI. We're going to be handling the investigation into the Santos assassination, and I wanted to give you some information about what we know so far."

"Of course. Please, sit down."

"And you are?" Jill turned to Josh.

"Josh Lyman. I'm…I was going to be Santos' Chief of Staff."

"He was also Deputy Chief of Staff here for seven years," CJ told her. "Anything you can tell me, you can tell him."

"Okay," the agent sat down. "Obviously, some of the information is a bit sensitive…stuff we wouldn't want leaked to the media, if you know what I mean."

"Absolutely," Josh nodded.

"Here's what we know so far. The alleged shooter is a 36-year-old man named Max Grimm. The shooting happened at about 8:49pm last night. As you know, he got off two shots in quick succession, hitting the President-Elect both times, before someone standing behind him in the crowd saw what he was doing and pushed him down, causing him to drop the gun. Agents arrested him shortly thereafter. We've been questioning him most of the night. Unfortunately, we haven't gotten a whole lot out of him. What he told us is that he did it because he's a huge fan of Paris Hilton and wanted to get her attention."

Josh's jaw dropped. "He shot the President-Elect to get Paris Hilton's attention?"

"No, he _says_ that's why he did it."

"You don't believe him," CJ observed.

"No. It's suspiciously close to John Hinckley, Jr.'s motive for shooting Ronald Reagan – that he was motivated in that case by an obsession with Jodie Foster. We searched Grimm's apartment, and we did find a lot of Paris Hilton memorabilia, but a lot of it looked new, as though it was recently purchased. All the magazine clippings we found were from the last month or so."

"So he stocked up on Paris Hilton crap to make it look like he was obsessed with her," CJ concluded.

"That's our guess. Anyway, we seized his computer, and it looks like the hard drive's been pretty well scrubbed, but we have our experts working on it to see if they can resurrect anything of interest. But he did make one big mistake. In the back of a storage closet, mixed with a lot of other odds and ends, we found a flier." Jill paused for a moment. "It was a piece of propaganda literature from West Virginia White Pride."

The color drained from Josh's face. CJ reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Jesus," Josh whispered.

"So he shot the President-Elect because he's Latino." CJ's voice shook slightly. That possibility had been in the back of her mind – probably in the back of everyone's mind – since it had happened. But to hear it actually confirmed…

"Because he was Latino, because he was married to a white woman, because with no Vice President-Elect in place he saw it as an opportunity to destabilize the government…any one of those motives, very likely all three, may have played a part."

Josh rubbed his forehead, absorbing the news. "So I don't understand…why the loopy Paris Hilton story? Don't extremists usually _want_ people to know why they did something like this? Is he going for an insanity defense or something?"

"Possible, but we consider it unlikely. More likely, we think, is that he's covering for others. He doesn't want his co-conspirators implicated, so he's posing as a lone nutcase. And frankly, it heightens our concern that we may not have seen the end of this. If he didn't want us to know he has white supremacist ties, maybe that's because there are further attacks in the works that he doesn't want us to find out about."

"Wonderful," CJ sighed.

Jill took a deep breath and got up from her seat. "Anyway, that's what we know so far. We'll be keeping the White House updated on a regular basis. Feel free to contact my office any time if you have questions."

"Thank you," CJ shook her hand and escorted her to the door.

"Agent Brent?" She turned at the sound of Josh's voice.

"I was just…any idea how he got the gun past the Secret Service screening?"

"He was actually quite eager to brag about that. He had a fake doctor's note on him claiming he had a metal plate in his hip after hip replacement surgery. He told us he used the note to explain why he set of the magnetometer. Procedure in that case would have been to pat him down, which he claims the officer did. He told us he was able to hide the gun under his clothing. He's a fairly large man, and he was wearing heavy winter clothes like everyone else at the rally, but it still seems surprising that the gun could have been hidden that well. We're going to be questioning all the Uniformed Division officers who worked at the rally to see if any of them remembers anything."

"Thank you, Agent Brent," CJ said as she left the office.

"Absolutely. I'll continue to be in touch."

"You okay?" CJ asked Josh.

"Sure, just great." There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.

She sighed and put a comforting hand on his arm.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Please raise your right hand and repeat after me," Chief Justice Evelyn Lang prompted. Mark Sellner did so. His left hand rested on a Bible that Betty was holding for him.

"I, Mark B. Sellner, do solemnly swear…"

"I, Mark B. Sellner, do solemnly swear…"

"That I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States…"

"That I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States…"

"And will to the best of my ability…"

"And will to the best of my ability…"

"Preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

"Preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

"So help me God."

"So help me God."

"Congratulations, Mr. President." Evelyn shook his hand, and the small group of spectators who had gathered in the Oval Office applauded. The newly-sworn in President turned to the news cameras.

"I know it's customary for a new President to give an inaugural speech, but under the circumstances, I'll keep this to a short statement. I'd venture to guess that nearly every politician in DC fantasizes about one day being President, and I'm no exception. But obviously I would never in a million years have wanted it to happen this way. Matthew Santos was a wonderful leader, and a wonderful man, and he would have been a great President. For as long as I'm in this office, I will seek to live up to the tone and example he set. And let there be no doubt: I will not rest until all those responsible for his murder have been made to pay for what they have done. That's all. Thank you."

"Well, I guess it's official," Josh commented to now-former President Bartlet as they stood near the perimeter of the Oval Office.

"Yep. This isn't my office anymore, can you believe it?" Jed responded, gesturing around the Oval.

Josh nodded, feeling a pang of grief, frustration, and even bitterness as he watched the new President getting situated at his desk. This wasn't how this day was supposed to have gone. It was supposed to have been Matt taking the oath of office and sitting behind that desk, not whatshisname. Seriously, Sellner who? Probably at least half the country had never even heard of this guy until last night, and now he was President. It was just wrong.

Jed put a hand on his arm. "Come on, Josh. Walk with us out to the motorcade."

He nodded, following Jed and Abbey as they congratulated President Sellner and left the Oval Office.

"Josh, I thought you'd like to know," President Bartlet said, stopping as they approached the line of black SUV's. "I pardoned Toby this morning."

"You did?" Josh gazed at the President, processing the news.

"Yeah. I figure if ever there was a time that called for grace-"

"Yeah," Josh nodded slowly. "Good."

"Yeah," Jed reached out and rubbed Josh's shoulder. "You take care of yourself."

"I will."

"You know it wasn't just Leo who loved you like a son. I do too."

A lump formed in Josh's throat. "Thank you, sir."

President Bartlet gave Josh a hug before he and Abbey continued toward the motorcade, Josh watching them as they walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

With a confusing mixture of emotions, none of them pleasant, Josh left the White House grounds. He began walking in the direction of his apartment, but found himself making a detour and heading toward the National Mall. What greeted him was an amazing sight. Hundreds of thousands of people stretched the length of the Mall all the way to the Capitol Building. Many of them, he realized, had probably come from out of town to attend the inauguration. They'd had no idea that instead they'd be spending the day mourning the President-Elect's death. Some people carried signs bearing pictures of Matt Santos. Others held candles even though it was daytime. He could hear the muffled sound of crying throughout the crowd and saw people embracing each other. He couldn't help but notice the heavy police presence, despite the fact that the crowd was peaceful and quiet.

He walked into the crowd and stood quietly for awhile before leaving and continuing toward his apartment, deep in thought.

West Virginia White Pride. The news that they'd been behind this – or at the very least, that the shooter had ties to them – had hit him like a ton of bricks. They were back, and as violent and dangerous as ever.

_Josh, the Southern Poverty Law Center wants you to sue the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan for a hundred million dollars._ What if he'd listened to Sam six years ago? If he'd sued the Klan, naming West Virginia White Pride in the lawsuit as well – if he'd won and had managed to bankrupt them – would it have prevented them from being able to carry this out? Would Matt Santos still be alive?

He closed his eyes, trying not to let himself think too much about that. After about half an hour, he arrived at his apartment. He put the key in the door and opened it, noting with some surprise that the lights were on inside. Had he forgotten to turn them off when he'd left yesterday morning? _Yesterday morning. _Just over twenty-four hours ago, and yet it felt like another lifetime. He stepped inside and jumped slightly when he saw Donna standing in front of him.

"Hey," he managed a smile.

"Josh," she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. Her embrace felt so good. He felt the tears he'd been holding back since last night well in his eyes and threaten to spill down his cheeks. He held his hand against his eyes, struggling to maintain his composure.

They finally parted, and Donna reached up and gently wiped a tear from his face. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Me too." He walked around her into the living room and sank into the sofa. She sat next to him, and he turned to look at her. "How's Mrs. Santos?"

"Doing as well as can be expected, I guess. Her mom's with her now. She got into town a few hours ago."

"That's good…that her mom's there." Josh's voice sounded somewhat distant.

Donna bit her lip. "An FBI agent came to see Mrs. Santos before I left. They think the guy who did this has ties to West Virginia White Pride."

"Yeah, I know. They talked to CJ and me at the White House, too."

"Josh, I…I think you should call Stanley."

"Why did I know you were going to say that?"

"Another shooting, carried out by the same people who shot you and the President at Rosslyn…I'm sure you probably heard the gunshots…"

He jerked his head up and glanced at her sharply. "Matt Santos was murdered in cold blood last night, and you think the reason I'm upset is because I heard the gunshots?"

"Of course not. That's not what I meant." She sighed and wrapped an arm around him. The last thing she wanted to do was fight with him. "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"If it'll make you feel better, you can board up all the windows in my apartment."

"Josh."

He let out a long breath. "We were so stupid…_I_ was so stupid. Letting him go for two and a half months with no VP? What were we thinking? Couldn't we see we were putting a giant target on his back? We might as well have screamed to every terrorist and nutcase in the world, 'hey, you want to really screw up the US government? Now's your chance!'"

"Josh…"

"Damnit. I should have insisted he go through the Electoral College and name Baker."

"Insisted? Josh, I think you're experiencing a very selective memory here. When was the last time Matt Santos did anything just because you insisted on it?"

"It was my job to make sure he'd at least considered the danger." He looked over at her. "The FBI thinks that might have been one of the motives, you know. Trying to…destabilize the government."

She gently massaged his shoulders. "Everyone who runs for President, let alone gets elected President, has a target on his back. You know that. Matt Santos knew that."

He shrugged, looking unconvinced. Donna paused for a moment and then continued: "Josh, I know you have a very unfortunate habit when bad things happen of using all your creative energy to figure out reasons to blame yourself, but this wasn't your fault. It wasn't."

He didn't respond. He pulled away from her and reached over to pick up the remote from the coffee table, turning the TV on to CNN.

"Come on, Josh, you don't really want to watch that."

He just gave her a glance, affirming that he did. Donna sighed and leaned back on the sofa. She knew her relationship with Josh was still fragile. He'd met her four-week deadline. He'd told her on the trip they'd taken together that of course he wanted her in his life, that what had happened between them had been far more than a string of one-night stands. She'd assured him that she felt the same way. But that didn't mean there were no unresolved issues. She knew Josh still didn't really understand why she'd left her job – left him – the way she had. The truth was, she didn't completely understand it herself. Quitting had been the right thing for her, and she'd grown a lot as a result; but whenever she let herself think about it, she was painfully aware that the way she'd done it had been abrupt, unprofessional, and even cruel, and that it had hurt Josh tremendously. She suspected, although he'd never said so in as many words, that in the back of his mind he didn't fully trust that she wasn't going to decide to leave him again at any moment.

Donna turned her attention to the television, where Democratic Senator Peters and Republican Senator Branson were standing outside the Capitol Building discussing the proposed legislation for a special election.

_"So can the American public be assured that, regardless of the form it takes, there will be a special election sometime in the near future?" the news anchor asked._

_"Oh, I think so," Senator Peters predicted confidently. "Clearly, that's what's mandated by the Constitution and our laws. Under the bill I'm going to be co-sponsoring, a special election would be held approximately six months from now, allowing time for an obviously abbreviated, but still rigorous, primary. We'd also allocate money to the states for the purpose of holding both a primary and general election. This is a national tragedy, and it's not fair to ask our already strapped state governments to foot the bill for these special elections."_

_"And unfortunately, my Republican colleagues and I have serious reservations about such a plan," Senator Branson countered. "That plan would mean there would be six whole months – an eighth of a full Presidential term of office – where we would have an unelected President…"_

_"Mark Sellner was elected," Senator Peters cut in_

_"By a single district in Massachusetts, and they elected him to the House of Representatives, not to the presidency," Senator Branson countered. "Six months of an unelected President is unacceptable in our eyes. My colleagues and I will put forward a competing bill which would hold the special election in three months. There would be no provision for a primary. The parties will be free, as they always are, to choose their nominees however they wish, but the federal government will not provide extra time or resources to hold primary elections. Perhaps caucuses could be held in some or all of the states, at the parties' expense of course, or perhaps the nominations could be decided at conventions, as historically used to be commonplace, and in fact as Senator Peters' party did this past election cycle."_

_"Senator Branson, you suggested it was undemocratic to keep President Sellner in office any longer than absolutely necessary," the anchor pointed out, "But don't you think it's undemocratic to have two nominees who would have been picked by party officials and not the electorate?"_

_"The electorate would weigh in at the general election."_

_"And they would have to choose between two unelected nominees," Senator Peters shot back. "I find that far more democratically questionable than President Sellner staying in office an extra three months so we can do this thing right."_

_"I can understand why my colleague might want to keep a Democrat in office for as long as possible, especially since it would help Sellner to enjoy the advantages of incumbency should he seek the nomination…"_

_"I deeply resent that implication," Senator Peters' voice rose, the veneer of civility between the two men beginning to crack. "President-Elect Santos was assassinated not twenty-four hours ago, and you're already questioning our motives?"_

_The anchor decided to change the subject before things got too vitriolic. "Senator Peters, on the face of it, Arnold Vinick seems like he'd probably have a lock on the Republican nomination. Are you concerned that, however this plays out, you'll have a situation where Vinick sails to the nomination on the Republican side, while the Democrats end up deadlocked in what could conceivably be a four-way battle between Russell, Hoynes, Baker, and Sellner?"_

_"That's not entering into our considerations," Senator Peters argued. "We're really just seeking the most democratic way of resolving this unprecedented constitutional situation. But for the record, I am confident that whoever my party chooses will be an exceptional candidate who will be very competitive in the general election."_

"This is gonna get ugly," Josh commented.

"Probably," Donna shrugged. She rested her head on his shoulder, finding it impossible to care about politics right then.

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Twenty-four hours later, Josh stood with Donna as they gazed solemnly at the flag-draped casket in the East Room of the White House. Matt Santos' body would lie in private repose there for 24 hours, providing family and friends with an opportunity to quietly pay their respects. The casket would then be moved to the Capitol Rotunda, where the President-Elect would lie in state for public viewing for 48 hours. That would be followed by a memorial service at the National Cathedral, and finally his body would be flown to Texas for burial. Traditionally, the opportunity to lie in repose in the East Room was reserved for sitting Presidents who died in office, but given the unprecedented circumstances, that honor had been extended to the President-Elect as well.

Josh felt a lump form in his throat. It was unreal to think of his boss and friend lying in that casket. He felt a wave of sheer hatred for the people who had put him there.

After a few moments, he felt Donna gently nudge him. They left the East Room and headed to a small reception area where people were gathering after having viewed the casket. Josh saw Helen Santos standing at the other end of the room with her mother. Miranda and Peter were several yards away with their uncle Jorge, Matt's brother, who had gotten into town yesterday evening. Matt's parents both had health problems that rendered them unable to travel. They would pay their respects at his burial service in Texas.

Josh slowly approached Helen, feeling his heart rate quicken. It was the first time he'd seen her since it had happened. Donna followed behind him.

"Mrs. Santos," he said softly, taking her hand. "I just – I want you to know how sorry I am." The words felt woefully inadequate, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Thank you." He couldn't help but think she sounded as if she was forcing herself to be polite to him.

He took a deep breath. "You should know that he…his last thoughts were of you and the kids."

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"His last-"

She held up her hand to stop him. "How in the world would you know that?"

"I was with him after…"

She stared at him in disbelief as the realization dawned. "He was awake? And talking?"

"For a few minutes, yeah."

She started to shake, tears filling her eyes. She turned to her mother, seeming to forget Josh was even there. "He wanted me to go with him to the rally that night. I told him no. I was tired, and I just wanted a quiet evening at home. I should have…" she choked back a sob. "I should have been there. I could have at least said goodbye. I could have told him I loved him."

"Oh, sweetie," her mother wrapped an arm around her. "He knew that. Of course he knew that."

Josh swallowed, fighting tears himself. He'd hoped to offer her some measure of comfort, and he'd only ended up causing her even more pain. "I'm sorry," he whispered before turning to walk away.

"Josh!" she called after him. He turned back toward her. She was quiet for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. Finally, she continued: "Was he…was he…in a lot of pain?"

He flinched inwardly. He wanted to tell her no, but he suspected she wouldn't believe him.

His silence answered her question. "Never mind. What a stupid question. He'd been shot, of course he was. I don't know why I even asked."

He approached her slowly. "I'm sure he probably was, Mrs. Santos, but really – what he was thinking about was you and Peter and Miranda. He loved you all so much…which you know, of course."

"Yes." She nodded almost curtly. "Thank you, Josh."

"Mrs. Santos," he nodded in acknowledgement before turning to leave. Donna, who had listened to the exchange in silence, also nodded goodbye to Mrs. Santos before following Josh, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Helen watched as Josh walked away. She hadn't realized until he'd approached her just now how hard it would be to see him. All she'd been able to think was that if Josh Lyman had never walked into their lives, Matt would be back home with her in Texas making plans to open health clinics.

That wasn't fair. She knew that. It wasn't Josh's fault what had happened. He had suggested a presidential run to Matt, but Matt – with her blessing – had been the one to say yes. They'd both known when they'd signed on that this was a risk. As if they could have forgotten, what with all the Secret Service agents, and motorcades, and bulletproof glass, and metal detectors at their church, and their neighbors having to hand over their Social Security numbers before they could come over for a hot dog. All of that elaborate security that ultimately hadn't been enough to protect him.

Still, she found it almost impossible, at least on an emotional level, not to hold Josh at least partially responsible. And the worst part, she thought, was that none of this even really mattered to him. Maybe that was too harsh. She didn't doubt that his sadness at Matt's death was genuine. But he'd get past it quickly enough. Six months from now, he'd be riding high. Thanks to the Santos victory, he'd be the most sought-after campaign strategist in the Democratic Party. Meanwhile, her life and the kids' lives would never be the same again. That thought was what really filled her with irrational rage.

And the revelation that Josh had been by Matt's side while he died – Josh, but not her – had torn her heart in two. Matt had been conscious. He'd asked for her. He'd needed her, and she hadn't been there. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to forgive herself for that.

Her mother, sensing her distress, put an arm around her shoulder. She looked at her tearfully. "I should have gone. I should have gone to that rally."

"Honey, you can't blame yourself. There was no way you could have known this would happen."

Somehow that was of little comfort to her. She noticed Jorge signal to her that he was going to take the kids for a walk, and nodded gratefully. She was doing her best not to let Miranda and Peter see her break down.

"He's been pretty helpful since he's been out here," she commented to her mother, eager to change the subject. To say Jorge wasn't usually the most reliable member of their extended family was putting it mildly, but she had to admit that he'd been great with the kids since he'd arrived.

"Yes. Though I'll never understand why he just got into town yesterday. He should have already been here. He should have come for the inauguration." Her mother, who had always strongly disliked Jorge, shook her head. "Although I guess I'm no better. I didn't come out either."

"You didn't come out because your doctors advised against you sitting in sub-freezing temperatures for hours. Jorge didn't come because he thought he had better things to do than watch his own brother get sworn in as President. There's a difference."

"I should have ignored those stupid doctors. I could have been there for you when it first happened."

"You're here now," Helen reassured her, putting an arm around her mother, grateful for her presence. It was good to have at least some family around, but she found herself longing to get back home to Texas, to a familiar setting with all her family and friends nearby. She'd always had mixed feelings about Washington, DC, but she now realized she was beginning to hate the city with a passion.


	5. Chapter 5

_"So the $50,000 question, Senator Vinick," the CNN anchor began, "is that if in fact special election is held – and it seems almost certain that one will be – will you once again seek your party's nomination for President of the United States?"_

_"I feel it's entirely premature, and frankly, more than a little disrespectful, to speculate on something like that. It's only been three days – the President-Elect's body is barely even cold yet – and you're asking me whether I'm angling to replace him?"_

_"It may feel disrespectful, Senator, but there is quite a sense of urgency about this. The American people want to know who will be leading them over the next four years."_

_"Look, if and when a special election is authorized, then you can ask me about any potential candidacy. Until then, this country has a President, Mark Sellner, so I think politics can wait. Let's all focus on showing our respect to the family and loved ones of President-Elect Santos."_

"Oh yeah. He's running," Sam commented to Josh. They were watching the television in Josh's office at the OEOB. The transition offices were being kept open as a resource to Mark Sellner. A lot of work had been done preparing for the Santos transition, some of which might end up being useful to the new administration. And they were also keeping the offices open for campaign and transition staff to stop by, remember Matt, and be among friends.

"Of course he's running," Josh responded. "He's gonna have the presidency handed to him on a silver platter. I mean, he already had half the country on his side. The fact that he'd accepted the Secretary of State offer means that a good half, at least, of Santos voters will feel okay about voting for him this time around. Maybe he should do Bruno a favor and get him back as campaign manager so he can finally pull off that 50-state sweep rumor has it he was fantasizing about."

"You don't think we can beat him."

"I don't," Josh confirmed. "Oh well. Vinick isn't that bad, I guess. When you get right down to it, he's not that much more conservative than a lot of so-called centrist Dems. And he's smart, I'll give him that."

"Wow. The Democrats really are doomed if even you're supporting him."

"I didn't say I wanted him to win. I'm just accepting that it's inevitable."

Sam watched as Josh began sorting through a pile of papers. It was strange and worrisome to hear his friend sound so defeated, not only presuming the inevitability of a Republican White House – three words that used to send chills of terror down Josh's spine – but also sounding as if he didn't care. It was a world away from the Josh of a year ago, who had left his job to go run the presidential campaign of a three-term congressman no one had ever heard of.

"Josh, I can't-" his voice broke off for a moment, and Josh looked up at him. "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you."

Josh looked away. "It's hard for Mrs. Santos and the kids. Worry about them, not me."

"You're my best friend. And I know what you went through after Rosslyn, Josh. Of course I'm going to worry about you."

"I wish people would stop talking about Rosslyn." There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Josh changed the subject. "So are you going back to your firm?"

"I don't know. They were pretty pissed when I left."

"They'd take you back."

"Probably, after enough groveling, but I'm not sure my ego's up for that. Besides, I'm not so sure it's what I want." He was quiet for a moment. "I did lie to you before, you know."

Josh looked up. "When?"

"When I said I didn't miss it."

"Yeah, I figured that much out."

"I did. I do. I miss it all the time. I mean, I like practicing law, and as far as making a difference goes, I did. I got my firm to accept a lot of pro bono cases, take on worthwhile clients even if they couldn't afford to pay as much, that kind of thing. And it felt good. But it's not the same as…you know." He sighed. "There's nothing like working at the White House. I mean, no doubt it can be maddening at times, working all those long hours only to see whatever good you might hope to accomplish thwarted by the Republicans in congress. Or sometimes even by the Democrats. It's the kind of work that it's probably healthy to have a break from every once in awhile. But I've had that break."

"You could go work for Sellner. I know he's trying to fill a lot of positions. Will's pretty much by himself in the communications bullpen. You could get your old job back in a second, if you wanted it. I mean, I know it probably wouldn't be for very long, but still…"

Sam looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Sellner's not the real thing, is he?"

Josh sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm probably not the most objective judge of that, considering my main reaction to him thus far has been an acute awareness that he's not Matt Santos." Sam continued to meet his gaze, and Josh finally answered. "But no, I don't think so."

"Who is?"

"I don't know."

"Is Baker?"

"Maybe," Josh nodded. "Matt thought so, obviously, considering he wanted him for VP." Sam silently noted that Josh had apparently begun referring to the late President-Elect by his first name.

"I was thinking about seeing if Baker needs some help on his campaign – assuming he's running, which I'm pretty sure he is," Sam began. "Maybe he'd hire me as communications director. Even just a speechwriter would be fine, whatever he has available. Anything to, you know, get back into it."

"He'd be lucky to have you." Josh paused for a moment, and then sighed. "Look, you know, that stuff I said before…about Vinick…if I'd known you were thinking of working for Baker, I wouldn't have…"

"Said what you really thought?" Sam smiled. "Don't worry about it. And yeah, I know it's a long shot. But so was Santos, right? And Bartlet, too."

"Yeah."

"You and me, I guess we never met an underdog we didn't like."

"I guess not."

"Come with me," Sam urged him intently. "If Vinick's going to win, let's at least make him earn it. No one should have the presidency handed to him on a silver platter."

Josh stared at him for a moment, a pained look on his face as he considered the idea. "I can't," he finally concluded with a heavy sigh. "I just…I can't."

"I understand," Sam nodded quickly. "It's too soon. I just had to ask."

"I mean, I'm happy to help behind the scenes however I can, but just…going through another campaign right now…I don't think I can."

Sam nodded in understanding and got up to return to his office, already beginning to rewrite his resume in his head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I just want to reiterate how much I appreciate you staying on as my Chief of Staff," President Sellner told CJ as they sat together in the Oval Office.

"Of course, sir."

"No really, I mean it. I know the offer you had from Hollis. It sounds like it would have been incredibly exciting work. For you to walk away from that in service to your country – well, what can I say? You're a true patriot."

"Well, I didn't exactly walk away. I just deferred it for a little while. I had a conversation with Frank Hollis, and he assured me that the offer would still be waiting for me once this transition period is over."

President Sellner was quiet for a moment. "You think he'd be willing to wait four years? Or even eight?"

CJ glanced at him. "You're running in the special election?"

"Well, first of all, we don't know for sure that there's going to be a special election."

"There's no serious opposition to the idea in congress," CJ looked at him curiously. "All the debate is about what form the election will take, not whether there'll be one."

"The Democrats are shooting themselves in the foot if they let this go through. We have the majority in the House now, we could block it. We could filibuster it in the Senate if need be. Arnold Vinick wins a special election, period. It's not even a fair contest. He had an entire general election to present himself to the electorate. Who do we have? Russell? The presumptive Democratic nominee who managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory? Baker, who couldn't be bothered to compete in the primaries but swooped in at the convention, only to be felled by his wife's hidden medical records? Hoynes, who can't keep his pants zipped to save his life? Let's face it. None of them can mount a serious challenge to Vinick."

CJ eyed him quizzically. She didn't disagree with his assessment, but she wasn't quite sure what his point was. "But you think you could."

"No, not at all. I'd be the biggest long-shot of them all. The majority of voters didn't even know who I was a week ago. Granted, if enough time elapsed between now and the special election, I'd have the aura of incumbency – I already am President, after all. But no, that still wouldn't be enough to beat Vinick."

"I don't understand, sir-"

"I have a meeting this afternoon with a lawyer friend of mine from Boston. He thinks there might be a case to be made that the 20th amendment and the Presidential Succession Act don't address a situation where the President-Elect dies without a Vice President-Elect. And if it's not addressed, then the normal rules of succession apply and I would serve out the remainder of the term."

"The law is pretty clear. If the President-Elect and Vice President-Elect both fail to qualify…"

"Right. Fail to qualify. Leo McGarry didn't fail to qualify as Vice President-Elect. He died before the election results were certified, so he never was Vice President-Elect. The text of the Presidential Succession act says that, quote-" he paused and reached for a piece of paper containing the text of the act, which CJ couldn't help but notice was readily accessible, as if he'd been pondering these issues quite a bit. "'_An individual acting as President subsection (a) or subsection (b) of this section shall continue to act until the expiration of the then current Presidential term, except that -_ _(1) if his discharge of the powers and duties of the office is founded in whole or in part on the failure of both the President-elect and the Vice-President-elect to qualify, then he shall act only until a President or Vice President qualifies…' _The language is clear. The person in my position serves out the term unless both a President-Elect and a VP-Elect fail to qualify. It says nothing about a situation where there never was a VP-Elect."

CJ's eyes narrowed. "Leo was elected by the Electoral College post-mortem, and congress ratified his election. Technically, he was the Vice President-Elect."

"And I think I can argue that they behaved unconstitutionally in doing so, and that his election should be null and void. The Electoral College and congress were both fully aware that McGarry was no longer qualified. To qualify, you have to be a citizen of the United States, and to be a citizen, you have to be alive."

CJ stared at him, dumbfounded. "I don't understand. So then aren't you agreeing that we have the exact situation addressed by the 20th amendment and the Presidential Succession Act? Where there's a President-Elect and a Vice President-Elect who have both failed to qualify?"

"Not if I can get Leo's election overturned – meaning, again, that he never was the VP-Elect. Also, the 20th amendment distinguishes between a President-Elect's death and his failure to qualify. In the case of his death, the Vice President-Elect serves out his term. In the case of his failure to qualify, the VP-Elect only serves until a president qualifies. Two different standards. I can argue that the framers clearly wanted to distinguish between an unforeseen event such as a death, and someone who got elected President under false pretenses."

"Yes, but the amendment doesn't lay out a separate standard for the death of both the President-Elect and Vice President-Elect. It only speaks in general to failure to qualify."

"I'll argue that we should look at the spirit of what the framers intended to do."

"So they just forgot to specifically address a situation where the President-Elect and the VP-Elect both die? It was an oversight?" CJ rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

"Maybe."

"Or maybe they saw it as different because the VP-Elect would have been chosen by the national electorate, unlike any of the other individuals in the line of succession."

"Any of those unelected individuals would take over for the remainder of the Presidential term if a sitting President and VP were both to die."

CJ was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to reason with him. "Mr. President, you can't take this to court. Not only will you lose, but you'll make a fool of both yourself and the Democratic Party."

"I'll argue that I'm not doing this for myself. I'll say that this crisis has exposed a weakness in the law regarding presidential succession, and that we need a definitive ruling from the Supreme Court so that should anything like this ever happen in the future, there'll be no ambiguity."

"You'll still lose."

"Maybe. Look, I know it's a long shot, but it's the only chance we have of holding onto the White House. I fully expect that Russell, Baker, Hoynes, and anyone else who might be running will loudly condemn my lawsuit. They won't be tarnished by it. If I lose, it hurts me and no one else. But if I win, the Democrats hold onto the White House for the next four years. I have to challenge it. And who knows, maybe the lawsuit will provide Democrats in congress with the excuse they need to block the special election. As far as I'm concerned, it's about time Democrats learned to play hardball. You'd better believe the Republicans would if the situation was reversed."

"This is a bad idea, sir. It'll ruin whatever future political ambitions you may have. You'll be the guy who tried to sue his way into the presidency – and on pretty flimsy legal grounds, too, as far as I can tell. Not that I'm a lawyer, but I have to say I don't think it passes the laugh test."

He gave her a look that indicated the discussion was over. "That meeting with my friend from Boston is scheduled for 4pm. You're free to sit in if you like."

"Yes, sir." CJ nodded, her expression making clear her continued disapproval of the plan. As both a former press secretary and a Chief of Staff, the only outcome she could foresee was this blowing up in President Sellner's face. She supposed that this was what happened when the line of presidential succession put someone into office who simply wasn't up to the job.


	6. Chapter 6

_"…Thirty-six year old Max Grimm was arraigned Wednesday and formally charged with assassinating the President-Elect. He entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, claiming he shot the President-Elect in order to get the attention of Paris Hilton. He is being held without bail. After the arraignment, FBI agent Jill Brent held a brief press conference, although there seemed to be very little new information she could release to the public:_

_'Agent Brent, do you believe Grimm was insane when he committed this crime?'_

_'That kind of question is probably best directed toward the prosecutor, and ultimately, the jury will have to decide. It's the FBI's job to conduct a thorough investigation and gather all the facts, and that's what we're doing.'_

_'Are you confident that Grimm acted alone, or are you looking for accomplices?'_

_'We haven't ruled anything in or out. This is still very much an active investigation.'_

_'So there may in fact be others involved with planning or carrying out the assassination who are still at large?'_

_'As I said, we haven't ruled anything in or out.'_

_'Agent Brent, Matthew Santos would have been the first Latino President in our history. Based on that, there has obviously been a lot of speculation that this may have been racially motivated. Do you have any evidence to suggest that?'_

_'The FBI is not commenting at this time on any potential motives beyond what you already know, which is the statement by Max Grimm that he was motivated by an obsession with Paris Hilton.'"_

Sam turned off the radio. He was in his car, on his way to meet Eric Baker at his hotel. Officially, Governor Baker was in DC for Matt Santos' memorial service, which would be held in a few days, but it was a not very well-kept secret that he'd also been meeting with DNC officials about the possibility of a presidential run.

He sighed quietly. It had been a difficult few months for him. His fiancée had broken up with him a few weeks before Christmas. He'd thought it had been wonderful that she'd been so open to the idea of moving to DC after Josh had offered him the Deputy COS position. What he hadn't realized at the time was that the reason she hadn't seemed to mind was that she'd already known she probably wouldn't be coming with him. They were too different, she'd told him. He was idealistic – to a fault, in her view. She was a very successful, but not particularly high-minded, personal injury attorney who freely used the term "ambulance chaser" to describe herself. She was also thoroughly apolitical. He'd found that refreshing at first, since even in California almost everyone else he knew lived for politics. But more recently, he'd become frustrated by it. How could such an intelligent person care so little about the world around her? He'd found out a few months before the election that it had been more than a decade since she'd even voted. He'd given her an earful about that. He'd practically dragged her to the polls to vote for Santos last November, lecturing her endlessly that California was going to be close and that her vote might literally decide who the next President would be. If he hadn't done that, she would actually have sat out one of the closest presidential elections in modern history.

And the reason she'd voted for Santos as opposed to Vinick? She'd told Sam that she knew how strongly he supported Santos, and thus didn't mind casting her vote for him as well. Fine, he'd thought. Not the best way to decide who to vote for, but maybe he could allow himself to feel flattered that she trusted his political judgment. But then she'd added that, anyway, she thought Santos was good looking and plain-spoken, and that she'd much rather have a beer with him than with Vinick. That had made Sam want to scream. In the White House and while campaigning for Bartlet, he'd spent countless hours worrying about voters just like that – voters who, for example, would vote for Ritchie over Bartlet because Ritchie would be their preferred drinking partner. It had constantly infuriated him that people could be so frivolous about exercising their right to vote. And then he'd found out that he was engaged to one of "those" voters.

In his heart, he knew she'd probably been right. They were too different. They were probably were better off without each other. But the breakup had still hurt.

And just when he'd started to get past the grief of being dumped and had begun to feel excited again about being back in politics…this had happened. He'd never experienced anything like the past several days. He'd been a toddler when John F. Kennedy had been assassinated, too young to have any memory of the event, but he could now for the first time fully appreciate the impact it had had on the nation. As both a citizen and an incoming member of the administration, he was devastated. And he'd also gotten to know Matt a little bit in the few months he'd been back in DC, making the loss personal. But as hard as it was for him, he knew it was nothing compared to what most of the rest of the staff was going through. Josh especially.

He drove by the Capitol Building and glanced at the line of people that stretched out the door and down the block, waiting to view the President-Elect's casket. He marveled at the grief and anguish of people who had never even met the President-Elect and had known him only through the media.

After about ten more minutes, he arrived at the hotel. He got into the elevator to head up to Eric Baker's suite.

"Sam," Eric greeted him warmly, shaking his hand as he led him into the suite.

"Governor. Thanks so much for meeting with me."

"Of course." Eric sat down on one of the armchairs in the living area, and gestured for Sam to do the same. "Let me first express my condolences to you, and to everyone on the Santos team."

Sam nodded. "Thanks. And to you, too. I know you'd gotten to know him in your discussions about the vice presidency."

"Yes," Eric nodded. "How's Josh holding up?"

"He's…you know, it's rough."

Eric nodded. "Give him my best."

"I will."

"So anyway," Eric began. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yes," Sam took a deep breath. "Listen, we both know there's most likely going to be a special election sometime in the near future, and without being presumptuous, rumor has it that you're interested in running. I have to assume you would be, given that you were prepared to accept the vice presidential nomination. And if you are running, you'll need to be hiring campaign staff. And so I was wondering if you have anyone lined up yet for communications director."

"No, I don't, as a matter of fact."

Sam took a copy of his resume out of his briefcase. "I served as Deputy Communications Director for four years in the Bartlet White House. I've done a lot of speechwriting…"

Eric held up a hand. "I don't want you as communications director."

Sam was slightly taken aback by the abrupt rejection. "I understand, of course. If you have any room on your speechwriting staff…I brought some samples of speeches I wrote for President Bartlet…"

"No, you don't understand," Eric shook his head. "If I'm going to have someone like you on my campaign, I don't want to waste you in the communications director slot. I know the work you did for Bartlet. And while, off the record, of course I'm running, I don't yet have a campaign manager."

"Campaign manager?" Sam blinked. "Are you…"

"I'd love to have you as my campaign manager, Sam, if you'll take the job."

"You understand that I've never…"

"You know your way around a presidential campaign. You helped get Bartlet elected and re-elected."

"I wrote speeches. I've never run a campaign."

"You'll be great." Eric insisted. "So what do you say? Will you take the job?"

"I-" Sam hesitated only a moment. "Of course. I'd be honored."

"Great!" Eric smiled and shook his hand. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir."

"Sir? We really are in campaign mode already, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir," Sam chuckled slightly.

"Hey, can I get you something?" Eric asked, getting up and walking toward the kitchenette. "Beer? Soda? Water?"

"A glass of water would be fine."

Sam followed him into the kitchen and watched as the governor prepared the drinks.

"So what are you hearing from the DNC?" Sam asked.

Eric handed him a glass of water. "Well, depending on what congress does, there are a number of ways things could go. But most likely, they think, is that the Republicans are going to get their way, and there won't be a nationwide primary election. In that case, the preliminary plan is to hold a convention of sorts, with DNC members and Democratic governors and congress members serving as delegates, to decide our nomination."

"Have they given you any indication as to your chances?"

"Honestly, I think it'd probably be between me and Sellner at this point. There is a contingent that thinks Bob Russell should basically be entitled to the nomination, given how close he came last time around, but no one really thinks he'd be electable. Of course, it's a fair question how electable any of us would be." He paused and looked at Sam. "What do you think? Give me your honest opinion. If I get the nomination, can I beat Vinick?"

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I won't lie to you, you'll be the underdog. But I'm ready for the fight. What about you?"

Eric smiled. "That's why I'm in this thing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"…Because of the multiple constitutional questions I have just laid out, I will veto any legislation authorizing a special election. In the event that congress overrides my veto, I will immediately file a lawsuit in the US District Court questioning the constitutionality of the special election, a case which I fully expect will be appealed up to the Supreme Court. I would like to urge congress to thoroughly explore all relevant legal issues before pushing this legislation through. I understand there is a great sense of urgency, but they cannot let their desire to pass a bill – any bill – override their solemn responsibility to make sure the legislation passes constitutional muster."

Hands shot up in the briefing room.

"Mr. President," a reporter from the Washington Post began, "You were never elected to the office you're currently holding. By filing a lawsuit to prevent a democratic election, aren't you attempting to rob voters of their right to choose their leaders?"

"I believe I'm upholding the constitution, something I took an oath to do when I attained this office. Further, I believe a definitive Supreme Court ruling on this issue will prove invaluable to the nation. It will provide crucial guidance should, God forbid, the United States ever again find itself in this kind of crisis. In short, I'm doing this for the good of the country."

"Mr. President, if your veto of the special election is overridden, do you plan to run as a candidate?"

"I'm certainly not going to run in an election while I'm contesting its constitutionality. Should the Supreme Court not end up ruling in my favor, I'll have to make a determination at that point as to whether I'm going to run."

"What do you think your chances would be, after you sued to stop the election?"

"Voters will have to make that determination."

"Mr. President…"

"Thank you. That's all." President Sellner ended the press conference and stepped down from the podium. He joined CJ, who had been standing on the sidelines observing the press conference. The two of them walked together back toward the Oval.

"I know you don't approve of this," he commented to her.

"It's not my call to make, sir." she replied simply.

"The party will thank me for it eventually," he insisted as they walked into the Oval Office.

"Yes, sir."

He sat down at his desk, and she took a seat beside him.

"Any updates on the FBI investigation?" he asked.

"I had a phone call today from Agent Brent. They're still convinced that Grimm had accomplices, but so far he hasn't given them up. They confronted him about the West Virginia White Pride flier, and he claimed to have no idea how it got in his apartment. He denies having any white supremacist ties or sympathies."

"Right."

"Anyway," CJ continued, "the other thing they're looking at is how he got the gun into the rally. They've questioned all the Uniformed Division officers who participated in the screening at that event, and all of them swear they didn't screen anyone who claimed to have a metal plate in his hip. That's something that would be fairly unusual, and one would expect they'd probably remember it. Grimm was asked to give a description of the officer who screened him, and all he claimed to remember was that it was an African American male. There were six officers that night matching that description. Just like all the other officers, none of them has any memory of Grimm according to their statements."

"Of course, if he's a white supremacist, what are the chances he's telling the truth about that description?"

"Not necessarily all that great. At this point, he's given the FBI so much disinformation that they're not taking anything he says all that seriously."

"Well anyway," the President shrugged, "Whoever it was who screened him is probably afraid to admit it. They don't want to lose their job. To say nothing of being vilified in the media as the person who screwed up and got the President-Elect killed."

"That's possible," CJ acknowledged slowly.

"What's the other possibility?"

"The FBI and the Secret Service are investigating the possibility that there may have been someone on the inside – one of the officers – who was involved in the assassination. They may have let Grimm through intentionally. They could also have given him some tips and training on how to pull off the shooting – finding a moment when the agents' attention wasn't on him, drawing the gun and firing it quickly before anyone had a chance to stop him, that kind of thing."

"Wow," President Sellner sighed. "That's a scary thought."

"It's only a theory at this point. They don't know anything for sure."

He sighed. "So they're going to keep on pushing the Paris Hilton story to the media, I gather?"

"Yes, sir, for now. They think it's best if any co-conspirators think the FBI believes his cover story."

He nodded, and then changed the subject. "By the way, have you talked to the OLC yet? I think I should be able to name a Vice President under the 25th amendment, right?"

She paused for a moment. "I actually just talked to them this morning. The thing is, technically, yes, you could. But if you did, in the unlikely event that your nominee got confirmed, you'd be out of a job."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You hold your office only until a president or vice president qualifies. If you nominate and congress confirms a VP, that stipulation is met. You would be out of office and your nominee would ascend to the presidency."

"Wow," he leaned back in his chair, considering that for a moment. "But then that person would serve the whole four years, right?"

"Counsel's office is pretty sure, yeah."

"So I could name another Democrat, and then…no need for a special election. We keep the White House."

"That's why the Republican Senate is never going to confirm any Democrat you nominate. For that matter, even if you were to name a Republican, they'd never get through the House."

"They can do that?" He shook his head incredulously. "Just refuse to confirm any of my nominees and pass legislation for a special election instead?"

"They can refuse to confirm any nominee for any reason, sir. And the 20th amendment gives congress authority over what happens in this type of situation."

"…until a president or vice president shall have qualified," he repeated the language of the amendment. "No guidance whatsoever as to how that's supposed to happen. It's like they expected a President or Vice President to just drop out of thin air and qualify."

CJ nodded. The more they all thought about this mess, the stickier it seemed to get.


	7. Chapter 7

Josh gazed at his reflection in the mirror as he straightened his tie. It was the day of Matt's memorial service. Donna was going to be coming by shortly, and they would go together to the National Cathedral. The service would be followed by a reception at the White House.

He wasn't sure he was ready for this. He dreaded the thought of facing Helen again. After the shooting, he'd kicked himself over and over again for things he hadn't done…urge Matt to go through the Electoral College to name a VP, sue the Klan…things that might or might not have stopped what had happened. But he'd never thought he could ever consider it a mistake to have asked Matt to run in the first place, even given how tragically it had ended. That had been until he'd seen the look on Helen's face. The one thing that was indisputable was that Matt would still be alive if Josh hadn't flown down to Houston two Decembers ago. Helen would probably hate him forever for that, and who could blame her? He closed his eyes, wondering if Matt would hate him too, for asking a father of young children to put himself in a position where thousands of crazy people with guns would want him dead.

He glanced at the clock. Donna would be there any minute. She'd moved into an apartment a few blocks away from his after they'd gotten back from their vacation together. He'd thought about asking her to move in with him on the trip, but given the fact that only a couple weeks ago she'd considered it an unreasonably large step just to spend the night at his place, he'd decided that might not be such a good idea. He knew she wanted her independence. Still, he missed her whenever she wasn't around, and until this had happened he'd been seriously considering asking her to move into his apartment when her lease was up.

Now, though, he realized he was thankful they weren't living together. The truth was, he knew he wasn't coping all that well with what had happened. He was barely sleeping. When he ate at all, he ate junk food. CJ would probably kill him if she could see his cupboards full of doughnuts and chips. And he didn't want Donna to see him during his worst moments. She had helped him through some dark places before, but he couldn't ask her to do it again. He was pretty sure she wouldn't want to. If he got too needy or obnoxious or dysfunctional…well, he saw no reason why she should put up with that when there were so many other guys out there who would love to be with her.

He knew Donna had probably been right about calling Stanley, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Honestly, he wasn't sure how much good Stanley could do this time around. It wasn't like before. He wasn't having flashbacks or getting that bitter taste in his mouth. He just had this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn't go away, and he couldn't sleep, or concentrate on much of anything. But there was, after all, a reason he was feeling that way, something no one could fix. Stanley couldn't bring Matt back. He couldn't change the fact that the list of people who were dead because of Josh just kept growing. Joanie. Leo. Matt. And but for the grace of God, Donna. He was starting to think that if he cared about someone, maybe the best thing he could do was just stay the hell away from them.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened the door and saw Donna standing before him, looking lovely but solemn in a long black dress.

"Hey," she gave him a hug. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," he told her as convincingly as he could. When she gave him a skeptical look, he added, "I mean…you know…"

"Yeah. I do." She smiled softly. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, and they headed out the door to his car.

Josh, President Bartlet, Eric Baker, Jorge Santos, Texas Congressman Tim Fields, and President Sellner were gathered in a room across the hallway from the sanctuary of the National Cathedral. They were going to serve as pallbearers during the service, and were getting some final instructions on how that process would work – although for Josh and President Bartlet, the ritual was all too familiar.

"It seems like we just got finished doing this for Leo," Josh commented quietly to the former President.

"Yeah," Jed nodded, placing a comforting hand on Josh's shoulder.

After the meeting wrapped up, Josh spotted Tim Fields near the door.

"Congressman, my condolences," he offered to Tim, who was widely expected to be Sellner's replacement as Speaker of the House. "I know you and the President-Elect were close."

"Yes, we were," the congressman acknowledged, a pensive look on his face.

Josh was quiet for a moment. "Look…about the whole Speaker thing last November. It was my fault. I was the one who talked him out of making a push for you." The congressman didn't say anything, and Josh took a deep breath. "Anyway…I'm sorry."

"You fill a starving dog's belly, he'll never bite you," Tim said as Josh started to walk away. "That's the difference between a dog and a man."

Josh looked at him in confusion. "Hmm?"

"That's what I said to him when he told me he was going to let Sellner win the speakership," the congressman explained. "That was the last time we…we talked. We'd been friends for years, back to his days as mayor of Houston, and those were the last words I spoke to him on this Earth."

"I'm sure he…knew you didn't mean it."

"I did mean it. At the time. I admit it, I felt betrayed. How stupid, you know? I campaigned for him because I wanted him to be President, not because of the favors he could do me if he got elected." The congressman shook his head. "You know, you always assume you'll have a chance to apologize after you shoot your mouth off and say something stupid. Life just isn't like that all the time, I guess."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In many ways, Josh couldn't help but think that Matt's memorial service seemed eerily similar to Leo's funeral. Most of the same people filled the Cathedral. There was the Catholic liturgy, and of course the flag-draped casket at the front of the sanctuary, just in case anyone had forgotten why they were all gathered.

But beyond the external trappings, he knew the two occasions weren't the same at all. The mood at Matt's service was unmistakably darker. In Leo's case, as shattered as everyone had been by his death, he'd died of natural causes. And they'd all known another heart attack was a possibility. That didn't mean that any of them had been prepared to lose him so suddenly, but it was nothing compared to the awful feeling of having to bury Matt because of an assassination at the hands of white supremacists. As Josh listened to Matt's friends and loved ones speak, in addition to the sadness and reminiscing, he could hear the rage in their voices at what had happened to him.

After the service, Josh and Donna greeted Helen at the door. Donna gave her a long hug, while Josh shook her hand somewhat awkwardly.

Her face was inscrutable as she looked at them. "I hope you'll both be able to come to the burial service in Houston next week?"

"Of course." The burial service was going to be a much more intimate occasion than the memorial, and truthfully Josh had been wondering if he was invited. He supposed Helen wanted Donna there, and so felt that she had to invite both of them. Besides, the press would probably ask questions if he wasn't there.

They said goodbye to Helen and mingled with the other guests for awhile before heading toward the White House for the reception.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh stared at the long refreshments table set up in the East Room of the White House, the same room where Matt had laid in repose less than a week ago. He took a cookie, even though he wasn't really hungry, and began nibbling on it.

"Hey, you," he turned and saw Lou Thornton standing behind him.

She stepped forward and gave him a hug. "You hanging in there?"

He swallowed and nodded. "How about you?"

"I'm dealing. You know. There's nothing else you can do."

He nodded, and they stood together quietly for a moment.

"So…" Josh broke the silence. "DNC chair?"

She shrugged. "We'll see. Rumor has it I'm on the short list."

"The party'd be in good hands."

"What about you?" She asked. "What are you doing next?"

He still wasn't even close to having an answer to that question. "I don't know."

She gave him a smile. "Well, hang in there."

He nodded, and watched as she disappeared into the crowd. He stood for awhile, staring vacantly at the room.

"Josh." He turned and saw Charlie Young walking toward him.

"Hey, Charlie."

"I don't think I've had a chance yet to express my condolences," Charlie said quietly as he approached him.

"Thanks."

Charlie paused. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure," Josh nodded, and the two of them walked toward some empty chairs.

"So how's Sellner working out?" Josh asked.

"Let's just say he's no Bartlet," Charlie responded. "If it's between him and Vinick in the special election, don't ask me who I'm voting for."

"I don't think you need to worry about that. After this lawsuit crap, there's no way the party nominates him."

The two of them sat down on a pair of armchairs, sitting quietly for a moment.

Charlie finally broke the silence. "I know the FBI thinks the shooter had ties to West Virginia White Pride."

"Yeah." Josh looked at the floor and nodded.

"An agent came to talk to me after it happened. They wanted to…warn me, I guess, since I'd been targeted by them before."

Josh nodded. Then suddenly he looked up at Charlie in alarm. "There hasn't been anything…specific, in terms of threats, has there?"

"Not that I know of. But the thing is…" his voice trailed off.

"What?"

Charlie hesitated for a moment. "Zoey and I are getting married."

"Hey. Congratulations." Josh looked at Charlie, managing a smile. "That's great." He paused, studying the glum expression on Charlie's face. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"What's wrong?"

Charlie let out a breath. "The FBI thinks…they don't want us to announce our engagement publicly. Not yet, anyway. They're afraid we'd be a target, again."

Josh was quiet for a moment. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. I mean, a big part of me thinks that's bull. This is 2007. They're telling me I should cave to a bunch of white supremacist murderers who don't want a black man to be seen in public with a white woman? I mean, if it were just me, I'd say forget it. Bring it on."

"Charlie, I don't think saying 'bring it on' to guys with guns is necessarily the best-"

"But it's not just me. I have to think about her, too. With everything that's happened, she's keeping her Secret Service detail, but obviously as we've seen that's not exactly foolproof. I can't let them…I can't let her be put in danger too." He paused for a moment. "But I don't know. I just think the FBI may be overreacting. It's been almost seven years since Rosslyn. If they were still out to get me, they'd have done it by now, don't you think?"

Josh was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. "Charlie, you and I both know these people are capable of anything," he finally responded, a slight catch in his voice. "I don't think you can afford not to take them seriously."

"So you think we should do what they say. You think we should keep our engagement secret in order to appease West Virginia White Pride."

Josh closed his eyes. "I think that's something you guys have to decide. Just…" he looked at Charlie, his eyes suddenly pleading. "Just be careful, okay?" He felt new worry start to form in his stomach. He remembered what Agent Brent had said about the FBI fearing more attacks. The last thing anyone needed was another tragedy. The thought of anything happening to either Charlie or Zoey…

"We will," Charlie assured him, patting him on the arm. He spotted Zoey across the room, and excused himself to go talk to her, leaving Josh sitting alone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So you still have my number in New Hampshire, don't you?" President Bartlet asked Josh. The reception was winding down, and they were both getting ready to leave.

"Yes, sir."

"You can call me any time, day or night. You know that, right?" Josh nodded, and the former President continued: "And if a phone call isn't enough and you ever need some company, well, New Hampshire isn't so far from DC, really. I can be to your apartment in a couple hours."

Josh couldn't help but smile. Jed Bartlet could be so paternal at times. He found himself remembering the night his father had died, when the then-governor had met him at the airport and offered to blow off his Illinois victory party just to keep Josh company on the plane.

"Thank you, sir, but I'll be fine. Really."

Jed's face turned serious. "You have a lot of people who care about you, Josh. Don't try to go through this alone."

He nodded, feeling an unexpected lump forming in his throat. As he watched the Bartlets get into their motorcade, Donna came up and put an arm around him.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded. They got their coats and walked together toward the car.


	8. Chapter 8

"Donna," Bob Russell greeted her at the door to the office he still maintained at the OEOB.

"Mr. Vice President."

"I'm not the Vice President anymore, but I still like the sound of that," he smiled as he led her into the office. He gestured for her to sit down, and then took a seat across from her at his desk.

"Thank you for coming to meet with me," Russell began.

"Of course."

"First of all, I want to express my condolences. Such a tragedy what happened."

"Yes, sir." Donna glanced downward.

"Anyway," he continued. "I'm sure you know that both houses of Congress are expected to vote this evening to authorize a special election, almost certainly by a wide enough margin to override Sellner's veto."

Donna nodded quietly.

"I still want to be President, Donna. I'm going to fight for this nomination. I can win. I should have won the first time around, frankly – chalk it up to bad luck, I guess. Anyway, the party isn't going to nominate Sellner, not after the stunts he's been pulling. So that leaves Baker as my main competition. I think I can beat him, but I'm going to need your help."

"You want me on your campaign."

"Not just on my campaign. I want you to run it."

She blinked. "What?"

"I want you to be my campaign manager."

She looked at him in confusion. "Will isn't going to be running your campaign?"

"You're the one I want."

"So Will turned you down," Donna concluded without missing a beat.

"He didn't think it would be right to leave the White House high and dry at a time like this," Russell conceded with a sigh.

"And I'm the only other person from your campaign who's over the age of 14."

"I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't think you were more than up to the challenge. You did a wonderful job for me last year, Donna. I was very impressed. Everyone was."

"Thank you, sir, but-"

"Now of course, it won't be like a normal campaign, at least not in the beginning. Instead of persuading voters, we're going to have to persuade the convention delegates to pick me."

"Of course," Donna nodded. She felt a twinge of excitement as her brain began to get into campaign mode again. "But the delegates are going to be deciding based on one thing – electability. They want someone who's going to have a shot against Vinick. We have to convince them that you're that guy. And the best way to do that is to increase your visibility nationwide, get voters to like you, and be able to show the delegates some favorable polling."

"So I take it you're on board," Russell said with a smile.

"I-" Donna hesitated. "I'm very flattered by the offer, sir, really, but I have some things to think about. Can I give you my answer tomorrow?"

"Of course."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Donna walked out of the office, lost in thought. She'd never thought she'd ever consider working for Bob Russell again. By the end of last year's primary season, it had been painfully clear to her that she was on the wrong campaign. Santos had blown Russell out of the water by just about every measure possible.

But, she thought as she got into her car, everything had changed. The only question now was whether she could support Russell over Baker for the presidency. She knew Matt Santos had thought highly of Eric Baker, but from what Donna had seen of the Pennsylvania governor, she'd been less than impressed. He'd decided "for family reasons" – probably his wife's depression, based on what everyone now knew – not to run in the primaries. She could respect that.

But then he'd swooped in at the convention and tried to win the nomination from the floor, even after having sat out the entire primary season, thus denying voters the chance to weigh in on his candidacy. Then, when the revelations about his wife's hospitalizations for depression had ended his hopes for the nomination and Santos had been declared the winner, he'd turned down Matt's offer to be his running mate. He'd said he didn't to put his wife through all the scrutiny. Donna could respect that, too. But then after the election, when Matt had again asked him to accept the vice presidential nomination after Leo's death, he'd agreed. And now he was running for President, again. That level of indecision, from someone who was seeking to be leader of the free world, bothered her.

And, the revelations about Baker's wife had been a low blow. Donna would be the first person to agree with that. But to be President was to be subjected to endless low blows. You had to be prepared for the fact that your political opponents would use anything, fair or otherwise, to try to bring you down and destroy your agenda. As much as anyone, including Donna, might wish that wasn't the case, it wasn't likely to change anytime soon. And if Baker couldn't stand up to that kind of heat…

And also, she realized uncomfortably, there was something else that made her inclined to accept Russell's offer. She'd worked hard in the past year or so to establish herself professionally, and now she found herself essentially unemployed. She was still putting in some hours at the transition offices, and she'd been helping Helen Santos deal with the media and other such things in the wake of everything, but both those roles would be by their nature temporary. It made her feel like an awful person to admit it, even to herself, but the truth was that in the midst of the horror of the assassination, she'd found herself at times grieving the fact that she wouldn't get to be Helen's Chief of Staff. And not just because the work would have been interesting, although that was part of it. From a purely selfish and, she had to confess, egotistical standpoint, she'd been looking forward to seeing the words "Chief of Staff to the First Lady" after her name, having her own assistant, and working in a fancy office with her name on the door.

She couldn't deny how much she liked the thought of the status she'd achieve by running a major presidential campaign. In the event they won the presidency, she'd presumably get a prestigious position in the Russell administration. The side of her that had become so focused this past year on career advancement was thrilled by the Vice President's offer.

Of course, it certainly wouldn't be without its emotional challenges. It would pit her against Sam in the nomination fight. She supposed that wouldn't be quite as miserable as battling Josh in last year's primary had been, but Sam had been her friend for a long time. She'd always thought of him as almost a big brother. And she suspected Josh would be less than thrilled. It was no secret that he held a low opinion of the former Vice President. She even found herself worrying what Helen Santos would think. Helen had certainly made more than her share of snide remarks about Russell. What would she think of Donna campaigning for him to take her husband's place as President?

She sighed as she pulled into the parking lot at her apartment complex. She really had no idea what she was going to do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So what do we know so far?" President Sellner asked. He was meeting in the Oval Office with Ron Butterfield, Agent Jill Brent, Nancy McNally, and CJ, discussing the investigation into the assassination.

"Sir, as you know, we're investigating the possibility that the suspect may have had an accomplice within the Uniformed Division," Ron Butterfield told him, his face etched with distress at the prospect of someone employed by the Secret Service having had a role in the shooting. "All the officers who worked the rally are being required to take polygraphs regarding the events of that evening."

"You can make them do that?"

"We can make it a condition of their continued employment. They all had to take polygraphs to be hired in the first place, so it shouldn't come as too much of a shock to them."

"And those tests are accurate?"

"They're pretty accurate when done correctly."

"Pretty accurate?"

"Administered correctly, they're believed to have about a 95% accuracy rate. We'll also be looking at the behavior of the officers in the next few days. See if there are any abrupt resignations, that sort of thing."

President Sellner nodded. Then he turned to Agent Brent. "So I'm sure you guys have already thought of this, but how sure are you that this Grimm character really is a white supremacist? Maybe that flier was a decoy. I mean, he already tried to lead you guys down the wrong road with that Paris Hilton story."

"Numerous postings on white supremacist websites, going back at least five years, have been traced to his computer. Also, in our files from Rosslyn, we have videotape of him in attendance at a white supremacist meeting where the speaker blasted interracial couples, a meeting also attended by the Rosslyn shooters."

Sellner turned to Nancy McNally. "Didn't I hear something about…I thought we had keyhole satellite photos of the headquarters of West Virginia White Pride. Can't we do anything? Raid the place or something? Surely there's probable cause."

"Well, that's questionable, but I'm afraid it's a moot point anyway. We did have intelligence on a diner near Blacksburg where they used to meet, but they abandoned it several years ago. I think they knew we were on to them. Frankly, we're not sure they have a physical headquarters anymore. Most likely, they communicate on the internet, using anonymous email accounts, and with pre-paid cell phones that are next to impossible to trace."

"I take it you didn't find any such cell phone in Grimm's possession."

"No, sir. If he had one, he gave it away or destroyed it."

President Sellner sighed. "Okay. Thank you everyone." As people started to stand, he added, "Let's get these sons of bitches, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Agent Brent said as the group left the Oval.

CJ watched as President Sellner walked toward his desk. She was trying to be patient and cut him some slack. The way he'd been thrown into this position with no time to prepare – anyone, no matter how brilliant or dedicated, would be bound to struggle. So far, the FBI and the Secret Service had been able to handle the investigation into the assassination without much need for decision-making from the President. She was thankful for that. But the Kazakhstan situation was a different story. In his Sit Room meetings, President Sellner generally seemed to defer to whatever he perceived to be the consensus opinion in the room. On one hand, that was probably for the best. That room was filled with highly capable people who were frankly much better-versed on the situation than the President was. But on a fundamental level, CJ found it disturbing that people other than the President of the United States were effectively calling the shots when it came to foreign policy.

"Mr. President?" Cliff Calley stepped into the Oval Office.

"Yes?"

"Congress has just passed the legislation. It was approved by 84 votes in the Senate and 402 in the House, more than enough to override a veto. As you know."

"No big surprise," he conceded with a sigh. "What did the final version look like?"

"Well, there are two pieces of legislation, actually. The first amends US election law to allow for congress, by a ¾ majority in both houses, to declare an 'electoral emergency' in a crisis such as this and authorize a special election, the winner of which would serve out the remainder of the then-current presidential term. They felt that might be necessary, since current election law has no provision for special elections. Plus this will provide a structure to rely on if anything like this ever happen again, the intent of the large supermajority vote being to prevent the provision from being abused."

President Sellner nodded, and Cliff continued: "That legislation is being sent over by courier as we speak. Assuming you veto it, it will return to congress and the veto will be overridden. They will then immediately vote on and send over the second piece of legislation, detailing the special election."

"And?" CJ asked. Deliberations had been anticipated to go on until the last possible moment, leaving some suspense as to which provisions would make it into the final bill.

"It calls for a special election for President of the United States to be held on May 1, 2007. The election will be decided via electoral vote as usual. The Electoral College will meet a week after the election, on May 8, and the winnner will be inaugurated on June 1. The states are not going to be granted any money for holding primary elections. They can, however, apply for reimbursements for the cost of holding the special election itself – the thinking being that it's not fair for the states to have to shoulder that burden. Most likely, given the time frame, the parties will decide their nominees at conventions, but that's up to them of course."

"The election will just be for President?" President Sellner asked. "Not Vice President?"

"That's right. As you know, there were some concerns about constitutionality, since the Constitution clearly states that a vacancy in the Vice Presidency shall be filled by Presidential appointment. Presumably, the winner of the special election would then appoint a Vice President under the 25th amendment."

"I'm the President right now," Sellner argued. "How can they refuse to let me do my constitutional duty and appoint someone now?"

"On that topic," Cliff grimaced slightly. "This letter, signed by large majorities in both houses, is being released to the media." He handed a piece of paper to the President. "Basically, it's a pledge to refuse to confirm anyone you might name for the Vice Presidency."

President Sellner scanned the letter. They'd put out some feelers on the Hill as to whether there were any nominees who might be confirmable. Apparently this was the response from congress. He read aloud: "'Due to the fact that Mark Sellner himself was not elected to either the presidency or the vice presidency, it would be an insult to our democracy for this unelected President to unilaterally name an unelected vice presidential nominee, thus effectively choosing his own successor to the presidency. Therefore, should President Sellner attempt to follow this highly undemocratic course of action, we the undersigned pledge not to confirm any nominee put forward by this President."

"Unilaterally? Doesn't the fact that Congress has the authority to confirm by definition mean that it wouldn't be unilateral?" CJ commented.

"They're all but calling me an enemy of democracy," President Sellner griped.

"I think we can assume the Republican leadership got the honor of writing this thing," CJ added.

"Yeah, that's us. You can't let us out of your sight for a minute." Cliff interjected sarcastically. "But you'll notice a lot of Democrats signed it. Guess they figure being anti-democracy might hurt their re-election prospects."

CJ just shrugged, taking a seat as they waited for the first of the two bills to arrive.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So I had a meeting with Bob Russell today," Donna began tentatively. She was at Josh's apartment, and had been waiting apprehensively for the best time to tell him about her job offer. She decided she might as well get it over with.

"He's running, I assume?"

"Of course."

"And he wants you to help with his campaign."

"More than that."

He glanced over at her. "Huh?"

"He asked me to be his campaign manager."

Josh looked genuinely impressed. "Really?"

"Yeah. Will's staying at the White House, so…"

"Are you going to do it?"

"I told him I'd think about it."

Josh was quiet for a moment. Donna watched him, trying to discern what he was thinking. Finally she spoke again. "I know you don't like him."

Josh could hardly deny it. He just shrugged.

"But the Democrats need to run someone, and-"

"And you really think Bingo Bob's the best we can do?" Donna could tell from the expression on his face that those words had come out more harshly than he'd intended. Still, she felt her blood pressure start to rise.

"Don't call him that."

"Donna, even you started calling him that once the primaries were over."

"So you don't think I should do it."

He sighed and turned to her. "I think it's a really good opportunity for you. It's a plum job, no doubt. It'd be a great career move. But if you're asking me to get excited about the idea of Bob Russell as President-"

"He's a good man, Josh."

"Maybe. But he'd be a crappy President."

"And you're so sure Baker would be better?" Her voice started to rise. "After he spent an entire year trying to decide if he was in or out of the presidential race?"

"He's enormously popular in Pennsylvania. His nationwide favorables are through the roof-"

"People felt sorry for him because of the hit job on his wife. Plus Santos and Vinick both spent the entire election talking him up to try and win over his supporters. That doesn't mean he'd be a good President."

"He was going to be nominated for the vice presidency. If this…if this had happened two months from now after he'd been confirmed-"

"But it didn't. Baker wasn't elected. He hadn't even been formally nominated for the vice presidency. He has no more claim on the nomination than anyone else."

"How about the fact that he's who the President-Elect of the United States _wanted_ in the number two spot?" Josh's voice rose. "Doesn't that count for anything? He's who Matt wanted to step in, in case-" his voice broke off momentarily. "That's all that matters as far as I'm concerned. He earned the right to make that decision."

Donna was quiet for a moment. Finally she spoke. "Look, I know Russell isn't perfect-"

"That's an understatement."

"But I owe him a lot, really, I do. He launched my career."

Donna didn't realize what she'd just said until she saw the expression on Josh's face. He looked like he'd been slapped.

"I didn't mean…you know what I mean."

"Yeah," he snapped, his voice icy.

"Josh-"

"Donna, if you want to work for Russell, work for Russell. I don't care. Why are you picking a fight with me?"

She stared at him for a moment. "It'd just be easier if my own boyfriend wasn't rooting for me to lose."

He let out a long sigh. "Donna-"

"I think I'd better go."

"Fine." He looked away from her, and she turned and walked out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

"Okay, let's go over your strengths and weaknesses as a candidate," Sam began, drawing two columns on a legal pad. He and Eric Baker were sitting at the kitchen table in Sam's apartment. They were still hunting for some suitable office space, but in the meantime his apartment had become their temporary headquarters. They also needed staff. Ronna Beckman had called him and asked to meet with him later that afternoon; hopefully that meant she was interested in joining the campaign.

Sam continued: "Strengths: obviously, everyone knows you were Matt Santos' choice to be VP. We can't emphasize that enough. Make sure no one forgets for a minute that you were slated to be in the number two spot." He felt a twinge of discomfort at what he was saying; it was a valid point, he knew, but he couldn't help but think it felt like they were exploiting the memory of the President-Elect for political gain.

"And weaknesses?" Eric asked.

Sam took a breath. "The Vinick campaign, I'm guessing, will make an issue of the fact that you sat out the primaries last year and then tried to win the nomination from the floor at the convention. They'll try to portray you as indecisive at best, and possibly lazy – you know, for not wanting to do the work of competing in the primaries."

"I did want to compete in the primaries," Eric said quietly. "But Dottie…she'd just gotten out of the hospital. The psychiatric-" he clarified, his voice faltering slightly. "She'd attempted suicide. And she was still pretty fragile, even after being released. I realized there was no way I could put her through a presidential campaign. I figured I could always run in four or eight years. But by the time the convention rolled around, she seemed to be doing so much better, and I thought…" his voice trailed off. "It was a mistake. I shouldn't have tried to do an end-run around the voters. And when those medical records got leaked, she was devastated. Not just because of the invasion of her privacy, although that was bad enough, but she blamed herself for costing me the nomination and possibly the presidency. Which was ridiculous. It wasn't her fault. Depression is a medical condition just like anything else."

"How is she now?" Sam asked.

"Some days are better than others, but knock on wood she's a hundred percent better than she was a year ago. After the election, when the President-Elect asked me if I'd be willing to be nominated for the vice presidency, Dottie was all for it. We talked to her therapist – after all, confirmation hearings may not be as bad as elections, but let's face it, they can still be pretty brutal – and she gave us her blessing."

"I think we can assume this election will be pretty rough," Sam warned. "The depression will come up, as will the leaked medical records and the fact that you weren't the one to tell voters about her condition. Are you sure she's going to be up for that?"

Eric nodded. "We've talked about that. After the experience at the convention, we feel like we have at least some idea what we're in for. She said as far as she was concerned, now that the whole world knows her medical history anyway, I should probably go ahead and run. At least that way whoever it was who faxed those records to everyone and their brother won't have won entirely."

Sam nodded. Eric was quiet for a moment, and then continued: "We were thinking we'd like to maybe do a television show together, and explain the situation to voters. Don't you think that would be the best way to put it behind us? No one can claim we're not being up-front."

"If she's up for that, I think it's absolutely the best way to go," Sam agreed. "Voters will sympathize with your story, I think. It'll make you seem human. And, in a way, you're lucky. Vinick defended your wife's privacy and denounced the release of those medical records during the general election, so he'd look like a huge hypocrite if he were to make an issue of it now. That doesn't mean there won't be other Republican operatives willing to go there, to say nothing of the blogs and the right-wing talk show hosts, but if they're not careful, they could easily trigger a backlash with voters."

"You keep talking about Vinick. Not Russell or Sellner. I take it you're pretty confident about our prospects for the nomination?"

"Honestly, I am. Sellner's pretty much shot himself in the foot. His approval rating's already in the low 30's, not even two weeks into his presidency. No way the party nominates him. Hoynes is out. From what I hear, the DNC has strongly urged him not to run, letting him know he just doesn't have enough support to be competitive. And Russell...I'm sorry, I can't imagine the party picking Bob Russell over you."

"So we announce my candidacy on Wednesday?"

"Yeah. Vinick is announcing tomorrow – at least, if the buzz is to be believed. So by announcing the day after that, we'll hopefully step on his news cycle a little bit."

"Speak of the devil…" Eric gestured toward the muted television, where Arnold Vinick was now standing in front of a cluster of microphones. Sam reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

_"I want to personally thank the United States Congress for their speedy work in bringing a resolution to the very difficult situation our country is faced with," the former senator began. "I am disappointed in President Sellner's veto of the special election, but grateful that it was overridden by both Republicans and Democrats in Congress. This is a victory for our democracy, evidence that our system of government can survive even circumstances as unthinkable as this." He paused for a moment. "I understand that constitutional issues prevented the Congress from allowing the position of Vice President to be filled in this election. However, I think the voters have a right to weigh in on who their next Vice President is going to be. Now, I'm going to be making a big announcement tomorrow, and I don't want to give away too much because I want you all to tune in, but I pledge to you here and now that if I put my hat into the ring in this special election, I will tell you, up front, who I intend to nominate as Vice President should I win the presidency. And I challenge all the candidates to respect the voters enough to do the same."_

_"Senator Vinick," a reporter called out. "Will you be pledging to nominate Ray Sullivan? Is he still your choice for VP?"_

_"No questions. Thank you all for coming out." With that, he walked away from the microphones._

"Wow," Eric commented.

"What the hell was that?" Sam puzzled out loud.

"Pledging to tell everyone who his VP will be? I think it's a good idea. Wish we'd thought of it first."

"It is a good idea," Sam agreed. "But why tell everyone now? Why steal the thunder from his announcement tomorrow?"

"I don't know. To get an extra news cycle out of it?" Eric suggested. "Today they cover the pledge. Tomorrow they cover not only his announcement of his candidacy but his rollout of Ray Sullivan."

"Maybe," Sam shrugged, a wave of distress hitting him as he pondered the implications of Vinick's pledge. "Damn. We should have thought of it first. We're going to have to follow his lead – that is, unless you want to be asked in every single interview why you _won't_ tell voters who you'll name as VP – but it's going to look like we're, well…following his lead."

"Guess we're going to have to start putting together a list."

Sam sighed and nodded. He was beginning to understand just what a formidable opponent Arnold Vinick was going to be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So what do you think Vinick's up to with the timing of the announcement?" Sam asked Josh over the phone. Josh tried to focus on what his friend was saying. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, since he couldn't stop replaying his argument with Donna in his head.

_He launched my career._ Just remembering those words triggered a new flash of anger. It never failed to upset him when Donna said things like that. He tried not to let it get to him. He always did his best to ignore the snarky asides she'd periodically make about her former job. But this? This was the most direct shot she'd taken since "I meant Will."

"Josh?" Sam's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm sorry – what?"

"What do you think Vinick's up to?"

"I-" he tried to concentrate. "I don't know. Kind of strange that he wouldn't save it for his announcement tomorrow."

"That's what I thought. The governor thinks maybe he's just trying to get an extra news cycle out of it."

"If that's what it is, I don't think it's smart. One big event gets you a lot more attention than letting the news trickle out over a day or so. Drop the news about the pledge and introduce his VP – Sullivan, I'm assuming – at his candidacy announcement, and he'd have dominated the headlines all week."

"Maybe he was afraid someone else would…"

Josh began inadvertently tuning out Sam's voice again. _He launched my career. Let me tell you something, Bingo Bob sure as hell didn't launch her career, I did! _He started unconsciously gripping the phone more tightly. She'd been Senior Assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. She'd worked in the West Wing, fifty feet from the Oval Office. He was so sick of her talking about that position like it had been a goddamn McDonald's job.

"Josh?"

"I – I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."

"Look, if you'd rather not talk about campaign stuff-"

"No, it's fine, I just…"

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Josh?"

"It's nothing." Finally he sighed. "Donna and I…we kind of had a fight. That's all."

"What about?"

"Nothing. It's no big deal."

"Okay." Sam didn't sound convinced. "Well, if you want to talk about it-"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"You guys are going to be okay, right?" There was a note of worry in Sam's voice.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just – it's nothing."

"Okay." He paused for a moment. "Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you beat Vinick?"

"The nuclear reactor thing helped."

"Right." Sam paused. "Guess we probably can't count on that happening again."

"Probably not."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam felt a pang of worry as he hung up the phone. He'd never heard Josh sound so distant, particularly while talking politics. He didn't know what the fight with Donna had been about, but it had clearly rattled Josh pretty badly. He was going through so much as it was. If on top of everything else his relationship with Donna fell apart…

He briefly wondered if he should call Donna. She might be more willing to talk about what had happened than Josh had been. But he decided against it. Whatever it was, it was between the two of them. His meddling would probably be unlikely to help matters.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. He opened the door to see Ronna standing in the hallway, wearing a dress suit and carrying a folder. He led her to the kitchen table, and she took a seat at one of the chairs.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

He sat down across from her. "How are you doing?" he asked gently.

She let out a shaky breath. "Okay, I guess. It's still hard though."

"How long had you worked with him?"

"Ever since he started in the House of Representatives six years ago."

Sam shook his head. "I can't imagine."

She nodded. They were quiet for a moment, and then she opened the folder she was carrying and took out a piece of paper. "Anyway, I'm sure…well, at least, I'm hoping…that you're still in need of campaign staff. I brought a copy of my resume…"

Sam held up his hand. "I don't need to see it. I've seen you work these past few months. And Josh raves about you. So did the President-Elect. I'd love to have you on the campaign. I would have called you. I just thought it might be…you know, too soon."

She nodded. "I thought it might be at first, too. But the Pres…Matt…wanted Baker as VP. He'd want Baker to be the next President. And besides," she added, "I think I'll go crazy just sitting around my apartment all day watching the news. I need to be doing something."

He nodded in understanding. "Well, welcome aboard. And congratulations. You've just doubled the size of our staff."

Her eyes widened slightly. "There's no one else yet?"

"Not yet."

"And that's with, what? Three months till the election?"

"A little over three weeks until the convention. We just got word about two hours ago it's going to be held the last week in February."

"Think we can win?"

"The nomination? Yes. The presidency?" He paused. "Anything's possible."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh sat slumped on his couch. The TV was turned to CNN, but he wasn't paying much attention to it.

_Are you guys going to be okay?_ Sam's question about Donna echoed in his mind. Of course they were going to be okay. He was still upset. He suspected she was too, but it would blow over. The suggestion that this little spat could actually end their relationship…

_I should call her,_ he decided. Her remark from last night still stung, but he couldn't stand being in a fight with her. Particularly over work and career-related issues; those types of arguments never ended well. He was about to dig his phone out of his pocket when there was a knock at the door. He looked through the peephole and felt a twinge of guarded relief.

"Hey," he greeted Donna with a tentative smile.

"Can I come in?"

He nodded, and she stepped into his apartment, following him into the living room.

"I'm going to tell Russell yes," she said as she turned to face him, her voice calm but matter-of-fact.

He took a deep breath. "Good."

"Really?" She looked at him carefully.

"Yeah. You…you made the right decision. It's a really good thing for you."

"Just not necessarily for the country, if we actually end up winning." He didn't answer right away, and Donna shook her head. "It's okay. It's not fair of me to ask you to pretend to like him just because I'm going to be working for him."

"Well, I can try to keep my opinions about him to myself."

She smiled slightly. "Keep your opinions to yourself? You?"

"I said try."

They were both quiet for a moment. Finally Donna spoke. "Josh, what I said last night-"

"Don't worry about it." He tried to keep the tension out of his voice, but he was sure she could probably hear it.

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I didn't mean it at all."

"Donna-"

"It was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't trying to hurt you, believe me."

"It's fine. Really."

She stepped closer to him. "Really?"

"Yeah." A smile played at his lips. He reached toward her, gently pulling her face toward his and kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him, leaning into his embrace. He began kissing her neck, and she pulled back ever so slightly.

"I'd love to stay, but I'm meeting Bob Russell in half an hour."

He groaned. "Bob Russell. Just the name I want to hear when I'm alone with my girlfriend…"

She smiled and touched his cheek. "I'll come over later, okay?"

"Okay."

She glanced out the window. What had been a light but steady drizzle of rain had turned into a downpour. "Great. I didn't bring an umbrella. You don't suppose me showing up at his office looking like a drowned rat will cause him to rescind the job offer, do you?"

"I have one you can use. Hold on." He turned and went into his study, which was the last place he remembered tossing it. The room was a mess; he usually left that door closed when company came over. He dug through the piles of books, folders, and other assorted items, trying to find the pocket-sized umbrella.

"Josh!" He turned his head toward the door at the sound of Donna's voice.

"Be there in a minute," he called back.

"_Josh!_" Her voice was almost a scream now. He hurried out of the study and down the short hallway to the living room.

"What is-" his voice broke off mid-sentence as he entered the living room and read the huge red "breaking news" banner that now filled the entire bottom half of the TV screen. His heart dropped into his stomach. He slowly walked toward Donna and rested a hand on her back as they both stared in disbelief at the television.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mr. President, the American people don't support this lawsuit of yours," Popular cable news talk show host Chris Morton grilled President Sellner, who was appearing on his show via satellite from the Mural Room to defend the lawsuit. "A new Gallup poll out today shows 88% of Americans think you should drop it, including 64% of Democrats. Why are you putting the nation through this? Don't the people have the right to elect their own President?"

"It's about the Constitution, Chris," President Sellner argued. "The Electoral College and the United States Congress acted unconstitutionally when they elected Leo McGarry as Vice President. The Presidential Succession Act clearly states that the person in my position serves out the presidential term unless it is a result of the failure of _both_ the President-Elect and the Vice President-Elect to qualify. In this election, we never had a Vice President-Elect, qualified or otherwise."

"Mr. President, your argument strikes me as ridiculous. If Leo McGarry was elected even though he wasn't qualified by virtue of being dead – pardon my bluntness there – wouldn't that make him an unqualified Vice President-Elect?"

"What you're suggesting there, Chris, is that Congress should be rewarded for acting unconstitutionally. They should be able to exert control over who the president will be by ignoring the rule of law. There was no deception here. They were fully aware that Leo couldn't become Vice President, and they elected him anyway. They had precedent to guide them; in 1872, Congress declined to count three electoral votes cast for losing presidential candidate Horace Greeley, because he died between the election and the meeting of the Electoral College. This Congress sadly failed to uphold the Constitution when they elected McGarry. We as a nation have to have the power to undo their action."

"So if I understand correctly, your lawsuit rests on the wording of the Presidential Succession Act, not the twentieth amendment."

"Yes."

"But the Presidential Succession Act isn't in the Constitution. It's a law, passed by Congress. If Congress passed it, can't Congress make changes to it?"

"They haven't done that. They haven't amended the Presidential Succession Act."

"But they could. Mr. President, in the unlikely event that your lawsuit is successful, couldn't Congress just go back and slightly re-word the Presidential Succession Act?"

"Well…"

"And if they could do that, aren't you just wasting the nation's time and embarrassing your party with this lawsuit?"

"I…" The President hesitated, and then changed the subject. "Look, furthermore, even if you accept the premise that my presidency should be temporary, Congress has ignored a perfectly viable constitutional means of filling this office, namely allowing me to do my duty under the 25th amendment and name a Vice President, who would then ascend to the presidency. Instead, they've decided to meddle with election law to provide for a special election for President of the United States – something that's never been done before, ever."

"You believe you should be able to do that. You, Mark Sellner, should be able to personally choose the next President of the United States."

"Subject to congressional confirmation, yes."

"And Congress has said they don't want to confirm any of your nominees. Isn't that their right?"

"I think it's the height of irresponsibility for them to-" His voice broke off momentarily when he saw CJ enter the room. She was holding a piece of paper with the words "Wrap it up" scrawled on it. He nodded slightly in her direction. The interview would be over in a few minutes. He turned his attention back to Chris Morton and continued his answer. "What they're doing is wrong. They're not refusing to confirm a specific nominee, based on his or her qualifications. They're issuing a blanket pledge not to confirm _any_ nominee."

"Don't they have that right?"

"No, I don't think they do."

"Where in the Constitution does it place any limits on the right of Congress refuse to confirm nominees?"

"Well…"

"Where? Point me to the section of the Constitution that says they can't do what they're doing."

He noticed that CJ had turned the paper over, and had written the word "Now!" on the other side. He ignored her. Chris Morton was a tough interviewer. Numerous politicians had gotten tripped up by him and seen their careers damaged, if not ended. There was no way he was going to end the interview until he was sure he had successfully gotten his point across.

"Mr. President?"

"Well, it doesn't explicitly…"

"So you're admitting there's no constitutional reason they can't categorically refuse to confirm anyone you nominate?"

He sighed. "Sure, I guess they can, but if they go that route, they should be stuck me until the next presidential election. This special election was not something ever envisioned by the framers of the Constitution or the authors of the Presidential Succession Act."

"Do either of those documents explicitly prohibit a special election for President? And if so, where? Quote me chapter and verse."

"Again, not explicitly..."

"That's what I thought." Chris cut him off. He then moved to the next topic. "Mr. President, Arnold Vinick is expected to formally announce his candidacy for President tomorrow. Assuming your lawsuit is unsuccessful and the election goes forward, do you think there's anyone in the Democratic Party who can beat him?"

"Of course there is, Chris. I mean, look, I'm sure Arnold Vinick thinks he's struck gold with all this-"

"Struck gold with all this?" Chris repeated his words in disbelief. "By 'all this' you mean the assassination? You're going on national television and saying you think Arnold Vinick is happy that the President-Elect of the United States was assassinated?"

He noticed that CJ had sat down and was burying her head in her hands.

"Now don't put words in my mouth, Chris. I'm not saying he's happy about it, necessarily, but you have to admit-"

"Mr. President, I'm sorry, we're going to have to cut this short," Chris interrupted him, clearly hearing something in his earpiece. "We have some very significant breaking news. Thank you for your time." With that, the satellite feed went black.

He walked over to CJ. "What's going on?"

She looked stricken. "Mr. President, when I said wrap it up, I wasn't just doing it for my health. There was a reason." Her voice was shaking slightly.

"CJ, what happened?"

She took a deep breath. "Arnold Vinick was shot outside his home tonight. A car drove by and…"

The President's face paled. "How…bad is he hurt?"

She closed her eyes. "He was gone by the time the paramedics got there."

"Oh my God." He began to feel sick as he remembered what he'd just said to Chris Morton. "And in that interview I-"

"We can talk about that later. Kate and Ron are in the Oval, and we're getting Agent Brent from the FBI on the line. Come on."

He nodded and followed her down the hall toward the Oval Office.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I've tried his office, his cell, he's not picking up," Donna tried to keep from sounding too frantic. "They wouldn't have taken him to, I don't know, a secure location, would they? I mean, he's not the Vice President anymore."

"I don't know. I doubt it, but it's not impossible," Josh mumbled. He was slumped on the couch, his eyes still glued to the TV set.

"Do you think I should put out a statement on his behalf?" she asked. "I mean, I know I haven't formally accepted the position, so technically I don't work for him yet, but…"

"I'd check with him first." Josh glanced at her briefly.

"I'm going down there," she decided. "We had a meeting scheduled. Maybe he's in his office but just not-" her voice broke off when her phone rang. "Oh good, that's him." She took the call and walked into the hallway.

When she emerged a few minutes later, her head was spinning. "He says he has some things to think about," she told Josh.

"Huh?" his eyes narrowed. "What things?"

"I don't know. He said he'd just sent a statement to the press, and that he was glad I was willing to run his campaign, but that he…has some things to think about. That's all he would say." She sighed. "I should have known. This happening has made him realize that I'm not experienced enough to…"

"Don't jump to conclusions," Josh cut her off. "He's probably just in shock. He's trying to process this just like the rest of us."

"I guess." She paused and studied Josh for a moment, noticing for the first time how stricken he looked. His face was pale. He was resting his forehead against his hand as he stared at the flickering television screen. She sat down next to him and put an arm around him. "Josh?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "So this is what it's come to," he finally said, his voice choked. "Crazy people, white supremacists, whoever the hell it was this time, get to decide our elections. Anyone they don't want in the White House, they just shoot. Hell, why should any of us even bother to vote?"

She sighed and leaned against him, rubbing his back reassuringly. They sat in silence for awhile, watching the news coverage. The anchor droned on for what seemed like hours, offering up speculation after speculation since no one had much in the way of concrete facts to report. Then the camera turned to a familiar middle-aged, brown-haired man who appeared ready to make a statement.

"Ray Sullivan?" Josh blinked in confusion. "What's he doing there?"

As if in answer to his question, the anchor spoke._ "West Virginia Governor and former vice presidential candidate Ray Sullivan was at Senator Vinick's home, along with several staff members, when the shooting took place. We're going to go live to his statement now."_

_The governor began speaking. "This is a very dark day for our country. I still can't believe it. All I know is he went out to his car to get something, and all of a sudden, we heard gunshots." He paused, as if trying to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice was angry. "This is an outrage, an affront to our democracy. I call on President Sellner to immediately pledge to hunt down and kill the terrorists who planned, carried out, or in any way supported this atrocity."_

_"Terrorists?" A reporter asked. "Are you suggesting you think the shooting was…"_

_"The assassination of a former senator and candidate for President of the United States is an act of terrorism."_

_"Governor, what were you meeting with Senator Vinick in regards to?"_

_"Senator Vinick, the staff, and I were making preparations to fly out to California tomorrow for the senator's announcement of his candidacy for President."_

_"Can we infer from your presence that you were going to be unveiled at that announcement as Vinick's choice for Vice President?"_

_"Yes," he responded simply. "I suppose the cat's out of the bag. That was the plan."_

"Guess we have a new Republican front-runner," Donna commented. She felt somewhat uneasy bringing up the political implications of the tragedy, but she knew they probably weren't far from anyone's mind.

"President Ray Sullivan," Josh remarked in agreement, a note of disgust in his voice at the idea.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How did this happen?" President Sellner demanded, standing in the Oval Office with Ron, CJ, and Kate. "Didn't he have Secret Service?"

"His protection was scheduled to start tomorrow when he formally announced his candidacy for President," Ron explained.

"Agent Brent, any leads so far?" CJ asked the FBI agent, who was on the speakerphone.

"So far, we don't have much to go on. One of Vinick's neighbors heard the gunshots and looked out her window and thought she saw a dark-colored sedan driving away, but that was as much of a description as she could give."

"Had he been getting any threats?" CJ asked Ron. She knew the Secret Service would have been monitoring that, even if Vinick hadn't yet received his detail.

"All presidential candidates get threats," he responded. "But no, there hadn't been any unusual threats, nothing that seemed to suggest something like this was imminent."

"I've always been of the opinion that someone who's planning an assassination isn't likely to send out an advance warning," President Sellner responded sharply. "But this ends right here. Starting now, I'm ordering that every candidate for President, every likely candidate for President, gets Secret Service protection – the same level of protection I get. The same level as the President. Unless they publicly say they're out, they get a detail. We're not going to let this happen again."

Ron didn't respond right away, and CJ turned to him. "Ron, does the Secret Service have the resources for that?"

He hesitated. "We'll find a way to make it work."

There was a knock at the door, and Will Bailey stepped into the Oval Office.

"Ray Sullivan was live on CNN just now," he told them. "He just called this an act of terrorism. He called on the President to pledge to hunt down and kill the terrorists who did this."

"Damnit," CJ sighed in frustration.

"Am I missing something?" The President looked confused. "It _is_ terrorism, isn't it?"

"When the general public hears that word, they think Islamic terrorism," CJ explained. "We don't need to be creating a panic. We don't need mosques being burned or Muslims being the targets of hate crimes."

"'Hunt down and kill' implies military action," Will added grimly. "He's just planted the idea in people's minds that we may be going to war over this."

"This guy Grimm, the Santos shooter, he railed against Arabs and Muslims in several of the internet postings that were traced to him," Kate pointed out. "He doesn't have a passport. As far as we can tell, he's never been outside the United States. He identifies himself as Christian. There's absolutely nothing to suggest any affiliation with Islamic terrorist groups. Granted, we can't say for sure yet that these two shootings are connected…"

CJ turned her attention back to Jill Brent on the speakerphone. "Gut instinct: was this the same people responsible for the Santos assassination?"

"Two assassinations in as many weeks: it's hard to imagine it's a coincidence," she replied. "But we don't know anything for sure."

"Arnold Vinick didn't have Secret Service protection," the President interjected. "It could have been anyone. For all we know, it could have been some kook who considered it retaliation for the Santos shooting."

"We can't rule anything in or out yet," Jill emphasized.

President Sellner shook his head. "Does it really make sense that it would be the same people who shot Santos? Why would white supremacists want to kill an old white guy who wasn't even in an interracial marriage?"

CJ shrugged. "I suspect because they didn't want him to be President."


	11. Chapter 11

_"Senator Arnold Vinick was a man of honor and principle, a true patriot who always what he thought was best for his country, even when it was difficult or unpopular. His exemplary character and intellect were just a few of the qualities that led his former political rival, Matthew Santos, to tap him to be our next Secretary of State. We do not yet know who is responsible for his murder, but be assured that whoever it is will be found and brought to justice…"_

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead as he listened to President Sellner's statement. The past few hours had been nothing short of surreal. Twelve hours ago, the President-Elect's assassination had seemed like a horrible but random act of violence. But now…it was impossible to imagine that these two shootings were unrelated. The conclusion that there was a larger plot being carried out seemed unavoidable. The governor had already gotten a call from the White House, telling him to expect a large Secret Service detail by the end of the day. And while that was somewhat reassuring, it didn't calm Sam's nerves entirely. Matt Santos had had the best protection the Secret Service knew how to provide. Clearly whoever was doing this knew how to get around that.

"So I guess Ray Sullivan's going to be the Republican nominee," Eric Baker commented quietly, sitting in the chair next to him.

Sam nodded. "I can't imagine anyone in the party challenging him."

Eric was quiet for a moment. "Anyway, look, before…before the news broke, I was going to tell you…I think I know who I want for my VP if I win."

"Who?"

"CJ Cregg."

Sam looked up in surprise. "CJ?"

"Yeah. I mean, look, I know it might be a long shot, getting her to agree to it, but…"

"That may be putting it mildly. For one thing, she'd probably have to resign as Sellner's Chief of Staff. It might be kind of a conflict of interest, with him challenging the special election and all. And I don't know if she'd even want it. Before all this happened, she'd been planning on getting out of politics altogether."

"You're friends with her, right?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe if you approached her? She might listen to you."

Sam was quiet for a minute. "I'll try, but I wouldn't get your hopes up."

They turned their attention back to the television.

_"Well, certainly a very eloquent statement from President Sellner, wouldn't you agree, Chris?"_

_"I would," Chris Morton responded. "But I have to say – and maybe this isn't the best time to bring this up – but I was interviewing the President right before the news broke, and well, you heard the interview. To say he wasn't nearly so gracious toward Arnold Vinick then would be an understatement. He actually implied that Vinick might be happy about Matt Santos' assassination."_

_"I heard it," the anchor confirmed. "I imagine there'll be quite a bit of fallout from that remark. I'm sure he wishes he could take it back, but…"_

_"But he can't. You can't put the toothpaste back in the tube, not in a situation like this. That remark is going to haunt him for the rest of his presidency, however long that is."_

_"Now, just to clarify for viewers who might not have seen the interview, he presumably didn't know about Vinick's assassination when he said it."_

_"No, I'm sure he didn't, but if you think that's going to matter to America, you're crazy. He's pretty much done for politically, in my opinion."_

"The guy's an embarrassment to the party," Eric grumbled. "You really think CJ would choose him over us?"

"We'll see, I guess," Sam responded with a shrug.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gunshots. Screams. Confusion. And the illuminated screen of his Blackberry staring up at him.

"The President-Elect has been shot twice in the chest."

"Is he…"

"They're doing everything they can for him."

"Matt. You're going to be fine." Josh tried not to look at the blood on the President-Elect's chest, on the paramedics' clothing, on the floor. So much blood.

"Don't call me Matt." The voice from the gurney was feeble but icy.

"You're going to have the best doctors in the world…I know from experience."

"Miranda…Peter…I won't get to see them…"

"Yes you will."

"No, I won't, and you know it. I'll never see my kids again. I'll never see my wife again, all because of you, Josh. It's your fault."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You made me do this. You made me run. It's all your fault."

"Matt…Sir…"

"Thanks for everything, Josh." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I'm losing his pulse…"

Josh turned and jumped when he saw Arnold Vinick standing in front of him, arms folded across his chest.

"He's right, you know," Arnie said matter-of-factly.

"Senator-"

"None of this had to happen. It's your fault he's dead. And it's your fault I'm dead, too. If you'd have sued those white supremacists, I never would have gotten shot."

"I-"

"You've made quite a habit of getting people killed, haven't you?" Arnie's eyes were mocking. "Oh yeah, I know all about it. It's called opposition research, Josh. I know how you whined and cried like a spoiled brat until your sister gave in and made you popcorn, and then you left her to burn to death. I know you left Leo McGarry alone in the woods at Camp David, and then made him run for Vice President with a bad heart. And don't forget your dad. If you'd been with him, he never would have developed that pulmonary embolism. He wanted grandkids, Josh, and you never gave him any."

He felt lightheaded. "I never meant to hurt anyone…"

"Not to mention getting your assistant blown up in Gaza. And you really couldn't figure out why she left you?" He shook his head derisively. "It's like my father used to say. Never trust a guy who doesn't shine his own shoes."

Josh woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a dream. It had just been a bad dream. Obviously, considering the people who'd been talking to him were both dead.

He slowly sat up on the couch and glanced at the clock. Three-o-clock in the afternoon. He hadn't been able to sleep at all the previous night, and apparently it had finally caught up with him. Although, he figured, sleeplessness was probably preferable to dreams like that.

He rubbed his eyes and let out a long breath. Arnold Vinick's death had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He and the senator had never exactly been friends, but he had come to respect him over the course of their campaign. And the implications of this second shooting were terrifying. Presidential campaigns had always been potential targets for violence, but probably never more so than right now. Josh felt sick to his stomach when he thought about Donna and Sam, both of whom were going to be practically glued to their candidates' sides for the foreseeable future.

He jumped slightly when the phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and then answered.

"Russell's out," Donna announced.

He blinked. "What?"

"He's out. He's not running."

Josh leaned back on the couch, feeling a huge wave of relief at the news, which he did his best not to betray in his voice. "Why?"

"He's issuing a statement saying it's because he needs to spend more time with his wife and grandkids."

"What's the real reason?"

"What do you think?" He didn't answer, and she continued. "He got spooked by Vinick being shot. He said that clearly there were people out there trying to tamper with the election by shooting presidential candidates, and whoever these people were, they probably didn't want him in office, either. He's not willing to risk it. He actually said that to me, in as many words. 'I'm not willing to risk it.'" She paused. "Go ahead and say it."

"What?"

"Say I told you so. Make fun of him all you want. You've earned it. I mean, my God, what a complete wimp. I can't believe I was going to run his campaign. Let me tell you something, I sure as hell don't want my President to be someone who chickens out at the first hint of danger."

"Donna…"

"Really, what kind of guy runs for President if he's not willing to…" Donna paused for a moment before continuing her rant. "The person in that job…in the presidency…has to be willing to send eighteen-year-olds into battle knowing some of them won't come home. So he'd presumably be fine with doing that, but he's even not willing to accept any risk to himself in order to get the job?" She sighed. "Well, hopefully it's at least finally sunk into that thick skull of his that he's not presidential material." There was silence for a moment. "Josh?"

"He doesn't want to get shot, Donna," Josh responded simply, getting off the couch to stretch his legs. "I can't say I blame him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So I take it people are scared," President Sellner commented, meeting with CJ in the Oval Office.

"In a nutshell," she nodded. "The supermarkets have been mobbed. There are reports of shortages of canned goods and other nonperishables. People are stocking up in case…well, in case of what, no one really knows, but…"

"Probably buying lots of duct tape, too, I would guess."

"I'm sure." CJ nodded. "We have a few reports of Arab Americans being harassed, but nothing too widespread, thankfully, at least not so far. But the Dow is down more than 600 points."

"It'll bounce back once things calm down."

"We can only hope."

"Any news on the investigations? Either of them?"

"I just talked to Ron Butterfield. They're going to start administering polygraphs on the officers who worked the Santos rally tomorrow, but interestingly, one of the officers has just resigned. For family reasons, he said. They're going to be looking into him, needless to say."

"Well, that's something, I guess."

CJ nodded, pausing for a moment. "Mr. President, I have Lou Thornton waiting in my office. She'd like a moment with you. Actually, we both would." CJ wasn't looking forward to this conversation.

"Bring her in."

CJ nodded and opened the door to her office, emerging a moment later with Lou, the newly-selected DNC chair.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. President," Lou began.

"Of course."

"Mr. President, the reason Lou is here is because…"

"You have to drop your lawsuit, sir," Lou interjected bluntly. CJ looked at her in amazement. Josh had told her that Lou was fearless, but for someone – particularly someone who had never even worked in the building – to appear so completely unintimidated by being in the Oval Office in the presence of the President…CJ wasn't quite sure she'd ever seen anything like it.

"I'm sorry?"

CJ took a deep breath. "Sir, I'm sure you've heard at least some of what people have been saying about you ever since the interview."

"You're saying I should drop my lawsuit because some cable pundits are saying mean things about me?"

"It's not just the pundits, sir," CJ told him. "Just about everyone in the country, Democrat and Republican, agrees. What you said was so far over the line-"

"I put out an apology. And I didn't know about the shooting when I said it."

"Of course not, but sir, that's the kind of gaffe you probably wouldn't have recovered from even if Vinick hadn't been shot. You implied that he was happy about the President-Elect being killed."

"They're also wondering why MSNBC knew about Vinick's assassination before the President of the United States did," Lou added. "Do you have any idea how that looks, having the President yammering on obliviously in an interview while the network he's appearing on is getting ready to break a story of that magnitude?"

He sighed. "I know, it's bad, but still…if there's any chance I can win in court-"

"There's not," Lou insisted. "The case is weak. You know it, everyone knows it." She paused. "Look, the reason the DNC hadn't pushed back too hard on all this crap before now is because, frankly, we didn't think there was any Democrat who could beat Arnold Vinick anyway. We figured there was always that snowball's chance in hell that your lawsuit might get somewhere, and beyond that, well, if you wanted to sabotage your own political career, that was your business. But now…look, we don't know what to expect from Sullivan. We assume he's going to be tough to beat, but he's not Arnold Vinick. He doesn't appeal to moderates the way Vinick did. So now all of a sudden, the Democrats might have a chance at holding onto the White House. But for that to happen, we need every bit of media coverage we can get to be focused on our candidate and his message, not on you and your ridiculous lawsuit."

"And it's not just the White House we have to worry about," CJ added. "The entire House of Representatives is going to be up for re-election in less than two years, as you well know. Do you want to have tarnished the party's reputation so badly that we lose what's likely to be our only check on Republican power – that being a Democratic House?"

The President shook his head. "Come on. Let me tell you, what's hurt the Democratic Party in the past is most certainly not excessive ruthlessness. We've always been the nice guys who don't want to rub anyone the wrong way, and we lose. The Republicans, on the other hand, will say anything and do anything in order to win, and they do. They win."

"Believe me, I've been preaching that for years, but there's a right way and a wrong way to go about it," Lou told him. "And trust me, this is the wrong way."

"Mr. President, even in the unlikely event that you won your lawsuit and stayed in office, you would have zero credibility as President," CJ added. "You wouldn't be able to get anything done. You'd have a miserable four years, followed by a Republican landslide. That doesn't help anyone, least of all the party."

"Drop your lawsuit," Lou urged him again. "Issue a statement apologizing for it. Don't even try to run in the special election. Give our nominee the best possible chance to win, and if he doesn't…well, then we'll have four years to find a strong candidate and take back the White House in 2010."

President Sellner was quiet for a long moment. Finally he looked at Lou. "Thank you for your input," he said tersely, his voice indicating that the meeting was over.

She nodded. "Thank you, Mr. President."

After Lou had left, CJ looked intently at the President. "Sir…"

"I'll think about it, CJ," he told her, sounding somewhat exasperated. "That's all I can say right now, okay? I'll think about it."

She nodded and excused herself, heading back into her office.


	12. Chapter 12

Ainsley Hayes stepped anxiously into what was now the Ray Sullivan campaign office. The office space had been rented a week ago by Arnold Vinick to be the DC headquarters of his campaign, but now it sported a large "Sullivan for President" sign.

She was struck by how seamlessly Governor Sullivan seemed to have turned Arnold Vinick's campaign into his own. Almost all of Vinick's staff now worked for Sullivan, with the exception of Sheila Brooks, who had been devastated by the shooting and who also, if the DC rumor mill was to be believed, was less than enthusiastic about Ray Sullivan. Despite having been known to refer to Sullivan as a "Vinick Republican", he was by all accounts too conservative for Sheila's taste. Bruno Gianelli had retired from politics after last November's election, leaving Bob Mayer, Vinick's former speechwriter, in the role of campaign manager.

Ainsley wasn't sure why she had been asked to meet with the governor. Was he trying to fill some holes on the campaign staff following Sheila's departure? That seemed somewhat unlikely, considering she had no campaign experience, but she supposed it wasn't entirely out of the question. Not to boast, but she had earned herself a reputation for being a force to be reckoned with on television. Maybe Sullivan wanted her for a campaign spokesperson. She hoped so. Truthfully, Ray Sullivan had been her first choice to be President well before most people outside of West Virginia had ever heard of him. She loved that he was an unapologetic, pro-life Republican who, despite his conservatism, had remained highly popular in his less-than-bright-red home state.

Ainsley had been disappointed when Sullivan had decided not to compete in the primaries, and even more disappointed when her party had nominated Arnold Vinick over the many solid conservatives who had been in the field. Vinick had always struck her as a decent enough person, and she could concede that he had probably been more electable than any of the other candidates, but she'd always had difficulty ascertaining where exactly his policy positions differed from those of a Democrat. Granted, he talked more about tax cuts than most Democrats did, but surely there was more to being a Republican than that. What was the point of electing a President with an R after his name if he wasn't going to behave like one? But of course she'd been thrilled by Vinick's choice of Ray Sullivan as his running mate. And despite cringing slightly at Sullivan's convention speech – Ainsley had hated hearing him use President Bartlet's illness to score political points, particularly since Bartlet wasn't even on the ballot, but on the other hand she supposed she was less than objective, having worked for Jed Bartlet and come to like him personally even though she couldn't stand his politics – her opinion of the governor had only grown as she had watched him during the election season.

Anyway, she found herself hoping against hope that this meeting would involve a job offer. After she'd left the White House, she'd worked for a few years in the House majority counsel's office, in the position vacated by Cliff Calley when he'd gone to work in the private sector. After that, there had been her brief, ill-fated stint at the Hoover Institution, and then the roller coaster of emotions that had followed – being offered her dream job as White House Counsel in the Santos administration, and then the assassination. Now she was in desperate need of work she could get excited about.

"Ms. Hayes," Governor Sullivan interrupted her thoughts, walking into the reception area to greet her.

"Please, call me Ainsley. It's so good to meet you, governor."

He nodded and escorted her into his office, sitting down across from her.

"Governor, first let me express my sincerest condolences. It's absolutely unimaginable what happened. I'll never understand what it is that could make a person do something so utterly…" She paused for a moment. "…evil. Pure evil. There's no other word for it."

He nodded, an odd expression on his face that Ainsley couldn't quite decipher.

"You and Senator Vinick were close, I imagine?" she asked, her voice faltering slightly. She suddenly hoped that question hadn't been too personal.

"We were," he told her, averting his eyes slightly. "Really, there's nothing like a campaign trail when it comes to bonding with someone. We barely knew each other when he first tapped me to be his running mate, but by the end of the campaign…well, we just got to be really good friends."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." He paused. "Anyway, listen. One of the legacies that Arnold Vinick left us was his pledge that he would tell voters up front who he would nominate for Vice President if he won. He challenged all the other candidates to do the same, and I know I intend to do so."

"Of course."

"Ms. Hayes – Ainsley – I've been watching you for a long time. You're bright, you're fantastic on television – I can't tell you how many times I've watched that video clip of you demolishing Sam Seaborn on Capital Beat – not to mention, you're absolutely gorgeous, something that certainly never hurts in politics."

"Thank you," she eyed him quizzically, wondering what he was getting at.

"So what do you say?"

"What do I say about what?" Her level of confusion increased.

"Ainsley, I'd like you to join my campaign as my pick for Vice President of the United States."

She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then laughed. "Right. Very funny."

"I mean it."

"Vice President." The laughter at such an absurd notion was still evident in her voice.

"Yes."

The smile slowly faded from her face. "You're serious."

"Absolutely. Ainsley, you're bright, you're charismatic-"

"Governor-" she struggled for the right words. "Do I even have to point out how unbelievably much is wrong with that idea?"

"Like what?"

"Well, let's see…first of all, there's the fact that I've never in my life held elected office. I'm a lawyer."

"You've worked for the White House. You've worked on Capitol Hill."

"As a lawyer, both times."

"It's experience in government. I'm telling you, Ainsley, voters will love you."

"Lawyers being among the very favorite people of most Americans."

He smiled. "Most lawyers I know don't look like you."

"So you want me for Vice President because you think I'm hot?"

"Not at all. I want you because you're the right person for the job."

"You understand I'm barely old enough to be constitutionally eligible. I'm 38 years old."

"So?"

She stared at him, her mood turning serious. "Governor, this is a bad idea. I don't have anywhere near the experience…" She paused. "And yes, under normal circumstances, maybe voters don't care so much about the qualifications of the vice presidential candidate. That's because they don't really think the Vice President does all that much, anyway. But these are not ordinary circumstances. We've had two assassinations in less than a month. The idea that the Vice President might have to take over as President is no longer going to be just some abstract theoretical notion in the minds of the voters. They're going to consider it a very real possibility. This is not the time for a weak Vice President."

"You wouldn't be a weak Vice President."

"Governor, can you look at me and tell me honestly that, if God forbid something should happen to you, you believe I'd be qualified to be President of the United States?"

"Yes," he answered, a little too quickly and not entirely convincingly. "And besides, nothing's going to happen to me. I'm healthy, I'm relatively young…"

"So was the President-Elect."

"I have no intention of getting shot. Don't worry about that." He sighed. "Look, I won't lie. Of course there are more experienced candidates I could choose if I wanted. But experience is something you can get – and you will get. You'll learn what you need to know, and you'll learn it fast. I know that, because I know how bright you are. But I want you because I think you have something that can't be taught, and that's instinct. Everyone who knows anything about you says you have fantastic instincts when it comes to politics and government."

She flushed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you." she paused for a moment. "Governor, I'm flattered, truly I am, that you would ever even for a second consider me for a position such as this. But-"

"I'm not just considering you. I'm asking you to do it. This is about service, to your party and to your country. I'm going to be President of the United States, Ainsley, and I'm asking you to serve."

She stared at him, dumbfounded, remembering some similar words that had been spoken to her years ago. "And everything else is crap?"

He looked surprised but pleased by her response. "That's right."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you and Leo McGarry ever by chance spend very much time together?"

"No, I can't say that we did." He looked slightly puzzled. "So listen. Why don't you think it over and give me your answer tomorrow."

"Of course, sir."

Ainsley got to her feet and shook the governor's hand before walking out of the office.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So my meeting with Sam went well," Donna told Josh as they sat together in the cramped airplane seats, en route to Houston for Matt Santos' funeral. "He said he'd love to have me as his deputy for the Baker campaign."

She was genuinely excited about the new position. She'd talked to the governor for awhile and learned more about the situation with his wife, and many of her concerns about him had been allayed. She still disagreed with his attempt to win the nomination from the convention floor, but the governor himself had acknowledged that had been a mistake. And in any case, now that the race was all but certain to be between Baker and Sullivan, there was no longer any question which candidate she should support.

"Good," Josh tried unsuccessfully to sound enthusiastic. "Really. That's great."

"What's wrong now?" A touch of annoyance tinged her voice. "I thought you liked Baker."

"I do."

"Could you try to sound a little less excited about me working for him? I'm starting to think maybe you just don't want-"

"Donna, really. I'm happy for you." He paused for a moment. "I'm just buying bulletproof vests for you and Sam is all."

Her face softened as she realized what was worrying him. "We'll be fine, Josh. There's going to be all kinds of security. The governor already has a presidential-level Secret Service detail."

"So did Matt Santos."

She slipped a reassuring arm around him, and they sat quietly for a moment.

Josh broke the silence. "Did I tell you the President called me last night?...President Bartlet."

"That's nice."

"He's coming down tomorrow for the funeral."

She nodded. "What else did he have to say?"

"Just…you know."

"Making sure you were still in one piece?"

"Something like that."

They sat together mostly in silence for the remainder of the flight. After arriving at the airport in Houston, they rented a car and began making their way to their hotel to check in. The Requiem Mass at the Santoses' home church, followed by the burial, would be held the following afternoon, but Helen had invited several people, including Josh and Donna, to her home for dinner that evening.

Donna watched Josh quietly as he drove. She couldn't help but wonder whether the multiple memorial events of a state funeral were really such a good thing. There had been the casket lying in repose, then lying in state, the memorial service at the National Cathedral, and now finally the burial. She knew all these formalities were for the benefit of the nation, not just for the friends and loved ones of the deceased, but it meant one painful event after another for those who had been close to Matt. She could see in Josh's face that he was all but dreading the funeral tomorrow, and for that matter, even the dinner tonight at the Santos home. And she knew it had to be even more difficult for Helen and the children. At least this was the final event. She hoped maybe it would lead to some closure.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ainsley walked out of the office into the parking lot, her head spinning. Was Ray Sullivan out of his mind? She should go back in there right now and tell him no. She wasn't qualified. She knew that, even if he didn't. The first and most important qualification for being Vice President was the ability to step into the presidency at a moment's notice if need be, and there was no way she could imagine herself doing that.

But…honestly, how was it that everyone in this town seemed to know exactly how to pitch her, how to get her to do something – or at least consider doing something – that she would otherwise have thought was out of the question? _I'm going to be President of the United States, Ainsley, and I'm asking you to serve. _How was she supposed to say no to that?

And his comments about instinct had gotten to her as well. She'd always felt that glowing resumes containing the names of prestigious institutions were valued much too highly in politics, that they were too often accepted as substitutes for common sense and instinct. She'd often sneered at politicians with Ivy League degrees, which was more than a little ironic considering she herself had gotten her law degree at Harvard. She knew she was smart. She liked to think she had good instincts. Maybe the governor was right. Maybe her lack of experience really wasn't as disqualifying as she thought.

Vice President. As terrifying as that idea was, there was something appealing about it, too. It would certainly be quite a campaign. She knew that Sam was going to be running Eric Baker's campaign. Governor Baker had formally announced his candidacy in a subdued press conference – any plans for fanfare clearly having been scrapped in light of Vinick's assassination – and had promised a decision about a VP pick 'very soon'. Bob Russell had announced he wouldn't be running, and President Sellner had managed to make himself thoroughly unelectable, so that left Baker as essentially the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party, with Sam as his campaign manager. And while Ainsley supposed most normal people would hate the idea of being in pitted against a friend, in this case the idea made her smile. She and Sam had been at political odds with each other literally since the day they had met. He was absolutely her favorite person in the world to argue politics with. He helped her sharpen her thinking, and she supposed the reverse was probably also true. She and Sam on rival political campaigns…she couldn't help but think that might be a little bit fun.


	13. Chapter 13

CJ sat in the Situation Room as the briefing on Kazakhstan wrapped up. Things had seemed to be in a holding pattern for the last several weeks, something for which she was grateful. She supposed the uncertainty involved with presidential transitions, both planned and unplanned, could have advantages in situations like this; China and Russia had no idea what to expect from President Sellner, let alone from whomever might be taking his place in a few months, so they were reluctant to commit to drastic action. At least that was buying them some time. Still, although the President had been working hard to get up to speed on the situation, she still had less than full confidence in his ability to manage it effectively if it turned into a crisis.

She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. It had been a long morning. She'd gotten a voicemail from Sam, asking if they could meet for lunch sometime soon. As if she got lunch breaks, or any kind of break really. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten lunch – or dinner, for that matter – anywhere but at her desk. She'd barely seen Danny since Sellner had taken office, another source of frustration for her.

And she did want to see Sam again. Even though he'd been back in DC for several months now, she'd barely had a chance to talk to him. She'd been frantically busy at the White House, and he'd been at least almost equally busy with the Santos transition. However, she was pretty sure he didn't want a social meeting. It involved the Baker campaign in some way, and she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with that, especially while President Sellner was still suing to stop the special election. The President had seemed to take to heart what Lou had said to him the other day, but he still didn't appear to be quite ready to change course and drop the lawsuit. He changed the subject whenever CJ brought it up.

Anyway, she'd had Margaret squeeze in a lunch meeting with Sam for later in the week. It was the least she could do. They were on the same side in this, after all. CJ didn't want to see a President Ray Sullivan in the Oval Office any more than Sam did. If she could help with the campaign in a way that wouldn't be in conflict with her responsibilities to the President…

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ron Butterfield and Agent Brent joined them in the Sit Room for a briefing on the investigations into the assassinations.

"Anything new?" President Sellner asked.

"The polygraphs are complete on all the agents and officers who worked the Santos rally," Ron reported. "They all passed. According to the tests, none of them has any memory of screening someone with a doctor's note claiming that he had a metal plate in his hip."

"You said one officer resigned," the President prompted.

Ron nodded. "Tom Kelsey. We asked him to voluntarily submit to a polygraph, and he refused. We're looking for anything we can find that might connect him to the shooter. It could just be that he knows he was the one who screwed up and doesn't want to have to admit it. But we can't rule out the other possibility, either."

"Anything on Vinick's shooting?" CJ asked.

"We're still looking into the dark sedan the neighbor saw leaving the scene," Agent Brent reported. "In questioning some of the other neighbors, one of them remembered a gray Ford Focus parked across the street from her, less than a block from Vinick's home. She didn't think much of it at the time, although she could tell us that she couldn't remember ever having seen that particular car parked there before."

"So they were just waiting outside his house for Vinick to come out," President Sellner commented.

"He went outside because he thought he'd left his wallet in the car," CJ pointed out. "Totally random. They couldn't have known he was going to do that."

"He and his staff were going to be leaving later that evening to fly out to California," Agent Brent pointed out. "The shooter could have been planning on attacking then. But that still would have required knowing that Vinick was going to be home, that he was leaving for the airport from his house. We've searched all the news reports, and as far as we've been able to tell, those details were never made public."

"You think there was someone involved who had knowledge of his schedule?" CJ asked.

"Could be. Or it could just be someone who knew what his car looked like, saw it outside the house, and figured he must be home and would have to come out eventually. Or someone who was camping out there just hoping to get a shot at him. We don't know for sure at this point."

"If the attack was planned – if it was connected to the Santos shooting – I can't imagine they'd have relied on random chance," CJ commented. "They obviously knew what they were doing when they shot Matt Santos."

"_If_ it was connected – we don't know that yet either," Agent Brent reminded her.

"That officer – Tom Kelsey. Would he have known about Vinick's schedule?" President Sellner asked.

"He didn't have any involvement with Vinick's upcoming protective detail," Ron answered. "He wouldn't have been authorized to have that information, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have managed to gain access to it anyway. Certainly the Secret Service was well aware of Arnold Vinick's schedule."

"Well, can't you do anything about this guy?" Irritation was evident in the President's voice. "He would have been in a position to aid and abet both of the shootings. Isn't that enough to get a search warrant and see what you can dig up at his house?"

"I'm afraid not," Agent Brent responded. "There's no evidence against him, at least not yet. So he quit his job? So he doesn't want to take a polygraph? There's nothing inherently wrong with either of those two things. All we have so far is speculation, not probable cause. And he does have a pretty rock-solid alibi – he was at work at the time of the shooting. It was his last day on the job, actually."

"That just means he wasn't the one who pulled the trigger," President Sellner pointed out. "It doesn't mean he wasn't involved."

"We know that," Ron told him. "We're just saying we don't have the evidence we need, at least not yet."

The briefing continued for about another half hour. Afterward, CJ accompanied President Sellner back to the Oval Office. She knew the President was feeling more than a little frustrated by the slow pace of the investigation, and she couldn't help but agree with him on that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh felt a pang as he and Donna approached the front door of the Santos home. An image flooded his mind of the house decorated for Christmas, Matt visible through the window playing with Miranda and Peter...the perfect family, or at least a pretty damn great family, since perfect families didn't actually exist. They'd been so unsuspecting; they'd had no idea that their lives were about to be turned upside down by the White House Deputy Chief of Staff planting in Matt's mind the idea of running for President. They'd certainly had no idea that in a little over a year, their family was going to be shattered as a result of that decision.

Helen greeted them at the door, her face largely inscrutable as she looked at Josh. They stepped into the house and looked around at the mostly unfamiliar faces, all of the other guests being local family and friends of the Santoses. President Bartlet and Abbey Bartlet would be flying in tomorrow for the service, as would Betty Sellner, who would be representing the White House.

As they began to mingle, Helen approached them, accompanied by an elderly couple. "Josh, Donna, these are Matt's parents, Marita and Luis Santos. Marita, Luis – Josh Lyman and Donna Moss."

"Hello," Marita met Josh's eyes as she shook his hand. "Matt told us so much about you. It's good to finally meet you."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Josh responded.

"Thank you."

They spoke with Matt's parents for a few minutes before Luis and Marita excused themselves to socialize with some of the other guests. Josh walked over to the buffet table where Helen had set out a few appetizers. Miranda and Peter were at the other end of the table, debating amongst themselves which of the cookies that had been put out looked the most appealing; from what he could tell listening to their conversation, Helen had restricted them to one each before dinner. They looked and sounded so normal, he thought, as if nothing had happened. But he knew that was just a façade. Nothing would ever really be normal in their lives again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After dinner, Donna stood in the Santos' living room, gazing at a framed wedding picture of Matt and Helen. She marveled at how young they both looked.

Helen walked up beside her, fingering the picture lightly.

"You were a beautiful bride," Donna told her warmly.

Helen shook her head. "It's strange. In some ways, that day seems like it was yesterday. In other ways, it seems like ten lifetimes ago. I was 22 and he was 28. I was getting ready to graduate college, and he'd just gotten back from the Persian Gulf."

"How did you guys meet?" Donna asked curiously. It suddenly struck her as odd that she didn't know. Usually personal anecdotes such as that were eagerly highlighted by presidential campaigns, but both the President-Elect and Helen Santos had always placed a high premium on their family's privacy. They had never considered such stories to be among the things that the American public needed to know.

"I was coordinating this big community-wide Toys for Tots drive as a service project for school. He got involved with it, too – it was always one of his favorite charities, as a Marine – and we hit it off right away. He was my first real boyfriend…certainly the only guy I ever loved. He proposed to me a week or so before he deployed to the Gulf." She was quiet for a moment, and then shook her head. "You know, I worried so much about him then. It was such a relief, for me anyway, when he retired from active duty. I mean, I wasn't necessarily wild about him going into politics, but I thought at least I wouldn't have to worry-" She stopped talking, her voice catching slightly.

Donna touched her arm lightly, and they stood together in silence for awhile.

"How are Miranda and Peter doing?" Donna asked after a moment.

"Okay, I guess, considering. I made an appointment for them to talk to a counselor who specializes in this kind of thing." She paused. "I don't know if it'll help or not, but it seemed like the right thing to do."

"What about you?" Donna asked. "Are you talking to anyone?"

Helen just shrugged. Donna was about to respond when Josh approached them, holding his BlackBerry. He was visibly upset.

"Mrs. Santos?"

"Call me Helen. There's really no reason not to anymore, is there?" Donna noticed Josh flinch slightly at those words.

He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "I really need to speak to you privately for a moment."

She looked surprised, but nodded. "We can go in the study."

Josh began following her, putting a hand on Donna's back and whispering, "Please come."

"What's wrong?" she whispered back as they walked.

Before he could answer, Helen opened the door to the study, which was down the hall from the living room.

"What is it?"

Josh took a deep breath. "Look, I…I wish you didn't even have to hear about this, but I just don't want you to be blindsided tomorrow..."

"What's wrong? Just tell me."

He sighed. "There's a fringe anti-abortion group called 'Catholics Against the Slaughter of the Unborn'…"

Her eyes narrowed in disgust. "I know who they are. They're the idiots who were protesting at our house during the campaign with those lovely pictures of aborted fetuses."

"Yeah."

"What have they done now?"

He was quiet for a long moment.

"Josh?"

"They've announced plans to picket outside St. Andrew's during the Mass tomorrow, protesting the fact that the President-Elect is being given a Catholic funeral, given his support of abortion rights."

There was dead silence in the room for a moment.

"They're protesting his _funeral_?" Donna finally managed to get out, stunned nearly to the point of breathlessness.

Josh nodded. "Yeah. They'll be on the sidewalk, not on church property, but they're going to be in full view of all the vehicles as they drive up. I don't know how bad the signs are going to be, exactly, but-"

"Oh, I can pretty well imagine how bad they're going to be," Helen snapped.

"I'm really sorry. I can only imagine how hard this must-"

"Hard?" she cut him off, anger building in her voice. "No, Josh, it's not hard. Not for me, anyway. Truthfully, I could care less. I mean, if these people think this is the kind of thing Jesus would do, I'd suggest they read their Bibles again, but whatever. I can ignore them. Except for the little fact that my kids are going to have to see those signs, and they're getting old enough to understand these things. I'm going to have to explain to them why those people on the sidewalk are calling their dad a mass murderer and saying he's in Hell. What am I supposed to tell them? You tell me." Her voice was shaking with rage and tears by the time she'd finished.

"Mrs. Santos…Helen…" Donna began, attempting to comfort her. Since the shooting, Helen had for the most part managed to maintain at least the outward appearance of relative calm, but it seemed to be cracking now. Hearing this news, on the night before her husband's funeral, seemed to be pushing her over the edge.

Helen cut her off, continuing her rant: "And then of course there'll be the media. Every damn news show in the country is going to want to put me on TV to ask me what I thought of those signs. What the hell do they _think_ I thought of them? And if I decline the interviews, you know what they'll say…what they always say. 'Helen Santos remains in seclusion.' Just because I don't want to go on _60 Minutes _and cry for the cameras in order to boost their ratings, they make it sound like I'm locked in my bedroom or something."

Josh took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Santos. I wish there was something we could-"

She turned to face him, her eyes flashing with anger. "Stop saying you're sorry. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be burying him in the first place."

There was a stunned silence. Donna felt sick to her stomach. She glanced anxiously at Josh, who had turned white as a ghost. His breathing had become somewhat labored.

Helen closed her eyes. "That was way out of line, Josh, I apologize."

"It's fine." His appearance sharply contradicted his words.

"Really. I…I can't believe I said that."

"Don't worry about it."

"Jesus." Helen let out a long breath and buried her face in her hands. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I think I just need to…I'm going to go lie down for a minute. I really have a headache. Donna, if anyone asks, will you tell them…well, just think of something to tell them, would you?"

"Of course."

She started to leave, but turned back to them for a moment. "Josh, I…" the words died on her lips. "I'll talk to you both later." She let out a long sigh and walked out of the room.

"Josh," Donna began once Helen had left. Her voice was shaking. He didn't answer or even look at her, and instead just stared out the window.

"She's grieving, Josh," Donna began again.

"You think I don't know that?" His voice was low and flat.

"She didn't mean what she said."

That made him jerk his head around and look at her. "Oh yes, she did."

"No-"

"Of course she did. Of course she meant it, Donna. How could she not have? She's right. If it wasn't for me-" his voice broke off.

"That's not true."

"It is."

"Josh-" she reached out and touched his arm, but he pulled it away.

"Look, I think I'm going to go back to the hotel," he announced. "I'm really tired, and besides, I can't imagine she wants me…I just need to get some rest."

She nodded. "Just let me get my coat. And I'll tell Mrs. Santos we're leaving."

"No. You should stay here. I'll catch a cab."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming with you."

"You're her friend. She needs you."

"You need me."

"No, I don't." There was a note of harshness in his voice that took her aback. He sighed. "Look, I just…I really need to be alone, that's all." He turned to leave.

"Josh…"

He turned back toward her and sighed when he saw the expression on her face. "Oh, don't give me that look; I'm not going to put my hand through a window. I just need some sleep."

She stared at him for a moment, and then finally sighed. "Okay. I'll…I'll see you later tonight. Call me if you...need anything."

He nodded and headed out of the room without another word.


	14. Chapter 14

Donna knocked lightly on the door to Helen Santos' bedroom. She thought she should probably check on her and see how she was doing.

"Come in," she heard a soft voice from the other side of the door.

She walked into the room and found Helen sitting in an armchair, staring blankly into space. It was obvious that she had been crying. She glanced slightly in Donna's direction when she saw her come in.

"Hi," Donna began. Helen just nodded in her direction

Donna walked toward her and sat down on the bed. She was trying hard not to be angry with Helen. Considering what she was going through right now – not only the murder of a spouse, but having to cope with it in the glare of a huge national spotlight – anyone might snap and say something hurtful. And Helen almost certainly didn't know Josh well enough to have any idea about his issues with guilt; she would have had no way of knowing just how devastating those words would be to him.

"I really am sorry about what I said to Josh," Helen said quietly after a moment.

"I know."

"Do you hate me?"

"Of course not." She paused for a moment. "I'm sorry about…I'm sorry those protesters are going to be there."

Helen shook her head. "It's so ironic. Matt was actually a lot more sympathetic to their cause than they realize. I mean, not to _them_, of course. Not to the extremists or their tactics. But he believed life began at conception. He struggled with the abortion issue – more than he could admit to publicly, frankly, and still be a prominent figure in the Democratic Party. In the end he didn't think society could ignore the fact that the fetus was living inside the body of the woman, and besides, he wasn't convinced that outlawing abortion would actually do enough to reduce its incidence to be worth the restriction on freedom and all the potential unintended consequences. But he thought there was plenty government could do to help reduce the demand for it, and he supported that."

Donna nodded. "It's just one of those issues…it's at the point where the loudest voices on both sides are so absolutely certain not only that they're right, but that those who disagree with them are evil – that they either hate women or they want to kill babies. It's not even really an abortion 'debate' anymore. It's pretty much devolved into a bumper sticker competition instead. Anyone who has any thoughts on the issue too nuanced to be summarized in ten words or less gets drowned out."

"And people wonder why I hate politics," Helen commented dryly.

"We need politics," Donna defended her chosen profession. "A lot of good gets done in government, even if most people don't think so. Laws get passed that make people's lives better, or at least they do when we elect good people to office. The issues at stake are really important."

"I know, I know," Helen sighed. "I don't really hate politics, per se, I guess. I care about the issues, I do. I just hate how things get done in Washington. Bills get approved or rejected based on partisan gamesmanship, or back-room wheeling and dealing, but almost never on their actual merits. I guess that's why it bugged me so much that Matt teamed up with someone like Josh-" her voice broke off as she remembered who she was talking to. How many times tonight was she going to put her foot in her mouth regarding Josh Lyman? "I'm sorry. I'll shut up now."

Donna had tensed up at that remark, once again trying to push back anger. "Josh isn't like that. I mean, he is. He'll wheel and deal and play hardball with the best of them to get a bill through Congress, or to get a candidate elected. And yes, he occasionally goes too far – he'd be the first person to admit that. But he does it for the right reasons, Helen. He does it because he wants to accomplish good things. And he does accomplish them. I mean, for God's sake, he got your husband elected President." She was unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice in that last sentence.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Donna looked at her for a moment. Finally she spoke quietly, finding herself unexpectedly on the verge of tears. "This has been really hard for him, too, you know – the assassination."

"I'm sure it has been." Helen sounded less than convinced. Then she looked over at Donna and saw the tears that had formed in her eyes. "Oh Donna, don't worry. Josh will be fine. He'll bounce back. Once he finds his next candidate-"

She shook her head. "No, you don't understand. This isn't the kind of thing Josh bounces back from. He blames himself for what happened. He'll probably always blame himself. That's why what you said hurt him so much."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'll apologize to him again." She paused for a moment, giving Donna a quizzical look. "He really blames himself?" Donna nodded. "Why?...I mean, okay, I guess that may be an odd question coming from me, but…"

"If you asked him, I'm sure he'd have a long list of reasons to give you, all of them ridiculous," Donna answered. "But the bottom line is that's just what he does. When bad things happen to people he cares about, he finds a way to blame himself. He's done it ever since he was seven years old and his sister-" her voice broke off. She wasn't sure how much of Josh's story it was appropriate for her to share with Helen.

Helen was quiet for a long moment, as if remembering something. "Before Super Tuesday last year…did you know Josh told Matt to drop out of the race?"

Donna's jaw dropped slightly. "What?"

"The campaign was broke. If we didn't come in at least second in California – and the prospects for that seemed pretty dismal at the time – the only way we could continue would have been for Matt and me to take out a mortgage on our house. That idea seemed to spook Josh quite a bit, and he told Matt he was going to lose and that he should drop out."

Donna stared at the ground, trying to imagine how hard that conversation must have been for Josh.

Helen continued. "I think that was the first time – for that matter, probably the only time – that I can ever really say I saw a human side to Josh. He actually seemed to care what happened to our family, not just about winning an election. Of course, the cynical side of me thought maybe the poll numbers had finally sunk in and he was just looking for an excuse to cut his losses and join up with Russell or Hoynes."

Donna shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. Josh would never have done that. He would never have abandoned Matt, certainly not over poll numbers."

"He left Hoynes to go work for Bartlet," Helen pointed out.

"Because he realized Jed Bartlet was running circles around Hoynes when it came to…well, everything. Talking about the issues. Leveling with voters. Bartlet was the 'real thing', as Josh and Sam like to say. And one of the first things Josh told me after I met him was that there's nothing he takes more seriously than a presidential campaign. It's really true. He won't work for a candidate he doesn't believe in. But even so, it was hard for him, defecting to the Bartlet campaign – harder than I think most people realized. He never stopped caring about Hoynes, never. Not even after all the scandals."

"Hmm," Helen shrugged. They sat quietly for a few minutes.

Donna broke the silence. "You didn't answer my question from before. Have you talked to anyone…a professional, I mean…about all this?"

"No," Helen sighed. "I don't know. I suppose I probably should, but…"

"It might help."

"You really think some counselor is going to be able to talk me out of missing my husband?"

"Of course not. But they can help you process what happened and grieve."

"Maybe. After the funeral, once things have settled down a bit, I might look into it. But right now it's really just all I can do to make it through the day."

They were quiet for a few minutes. Finally, Helen spoke. "Donna, tell me the truth, why do you think they shot him?"

She looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think it was just because he was Latino, or because he was married to…"

Donna's heart sank. "Oh, Helen-"

"I mean, that's why they targeted Charlie Young at Rosslyn, right? Because he was dating Zoey Bartlet. They obviously have it in for interracial couples." She paused. "I don't know. I guess maybe it's just been easier to blame Josh, or to blame anyone really, rather than accept the reality that in all likelihood he was killed because of me."

"Helen, no. That's absurd and you know it," Donna's voice was kind but firm. "Honestly, you and Josh both, you amaze me. You blame yourself, you blame Josh, Josh blames himself. You need someone to blame? Has it actually never occurred to you to maybe blame the piece of human scum who pulled the trigger?"

"Believe me, I do," Helen's mouth tightened. "I hate Max Grimm more than I've ever known I could hate anyone." She paused for a moment, thinking. "But at least he's in jail. Knowing that there are others out there, still walking around, obviously still dangerous – I mean, they've already killed again…"

"We don't know for sure that they were the ones who shot Arnold Vinick," Donna pointed out.

"It was them. I'm sure it was. And who's to say who their next target is going to be? Donna, I swear, I'm getting to the point where I don't even like for Peter and Miranda to be out of my sight. I know we still have Secret Service, and believe me I'm grateful – you won't catch me complaining anymore about the bulletproof glass in the windows, I can guarantee you that – but it's still scary." She rolled her eyes. "If those two kids grow up with all sorts of neuroses because of their hopelessly overprotective mother, we'll know how it happened."

Donna reached over and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. After a moment, Helen took a deep breath and got up.

"Well, I should probably get back downstairs before everyone starts to wonder what happened to me."

Donna nodded and followed her back toward the living room. The gathering was winding down, and she wanted to get back to the hotel and see Josh. She said goodbye to Helen and collected her coat and purse.

As she walked toward the car, she got out her cell phone and saw that there was a text message from Josh. It read: "Got a separate hotel room. Thought it would be best. I'm fine, don't worry. See you tomorrow."

"Damnit, Josh," she muttered. She called his phone, but he didn't answer. She hung up without leaving a message and texted him back to ask what the room number was, although she didn't really expect a reply.

She got in the car and drove back to the hotel. A part of her still hoped to find Josh in the room they had originally rented together, but she wasn't particularly surprised when he wasn't there. She sat down on a chair, trying to figure out what to do. She felt a mixture of emotions: worry, hurt, and more than a little annoyance. Why did he have to be this way? Wasn't he a little too old to run away and hide – especially from _her_, for heaven's sake – whenever he was hurting?

She reached for her phone and dialed Sam's number, wanting to get someone else's perspective on the situation.

"Hey, Donna," there was a note of worry in his voice. "Is everything okay?" She glanced at the clock and realized it was well after 10pm on the East Coast.

"Yeah, yeah. Well no, not really." She told him everything that had happened.

"Oh God," Sam sighed. "Poor Josh. She really…she really said that?"

"She was upset," Donna felt the need to defend Helen. "She just lashed out. I know she feels bad about it."

"Right." He was quiet for a moment. "But still. Wow. Do you think…I don't know, do you think I should come down there?"

Donna's eyes widened with surprise, as well as a little bit of alarm, that Sam apparently thought the situation might be serious enough to warrant him hopping the next red eye down to Houston. "No, not at all. That's not why I called."

"I know it wasn't. I'm just worried."

"Me too." She paused. "I mean, I'm sure he's fine. You know how he gets. He probably just needs some quiet." Sam didn't answer, and Donna felt her anxiety level increase. "Don't you think?"

"I hope so," he sighed. "But geez…I mean, God, let's face it, even before the shooting he was…barely keeping his head above water, really. And now this…"

"What do you mean?" Donna wasn't completely sure what he was referring to. There was silence on the other end of the line, as if he was surprised she would have to ask. She continued: "I mean, I know Leo's death was hard on him, of course. And he was definitely beyond sleep-deprived. That was why you made him take that vacation, right? Which was a stroke of genius, by the way – I don't know if I've ever thanked you for that."

"That was part of the reason, yeah."

"Why else?" She paused. "He told me he yelled at Otto."

"Donna, the only other time I've seen him that unhinged was…you know, in the Oval Office that time."

She paled as she realized what he was referring to. "It was that bad?"

He sighed. "Maybe not quite that bad, but it was pretty bad. I mean, I've seen Josh operate without sleep before. There was more going on than that. I don't know what all it was. Leo was part of it, I'm sure, and the stress of the transition, but I don't think that was the whole explanation. But in any case, I was just honestly afraid of…what would happen if he didn't take a step back from everything, like right away."

Donna leaned back in the chair, rubbing her eyes. Thinking back, it was easy enough to see. She remembered Josh's constant look of sheer exhaustion, and how distracted he'd been, constantly fiddling with his BlackBerry like it was a security blanket, even when there couldn't possibly have been anything of importance he was doing on it. She thought about the President-Elect calling her into his office and asking if she thought Josh was alright, and remembered with a twinge of shame how she'd brushed aside his concern. She'd been too busy feeling awkward about being asked whether Josh was seeing anyone to even consider whether Matt might have been right about him being in a seriously bad space.

She felt a wave of guilt. Sam had noticed how much Josh had been struggling after having been back in DC a week. The President-Elect had noticed. But she, who had the perhaps undeserved reputation of knowing Josh better than anyone else in the world, had been largely oblivious. In fact, she realized, she'd probably only added to his stress by imposing her four-week deadline – something which had seemed like such a brilliant move at the time. _But still, four weeks? Whatever stress he was under, he didn't think FOUR WEEKS would be long enough for him to decide whether he wanted me in his life?_ She felt a fresh wave of hurt at that, but pushed it aside. That wasn't the issue right now.

"Donna?" Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah." She forced herself to focus. "I'll try to find him. Maybe I can get the lady at the front desk to tell me what room he's in."

"Okay." He paused. "Call me if you find anything out."

"Sure."

She hung up the phone, grabbed her hotel keys, and headed to the lobby.


	15. Chapter 15

"Josh Lyman," Donna repeated the name for the hotel clerk. "He got a second room, and he was going to tell me the room number and give me a key, but he forgot. And his phone is going straight to voicemail – I think his battery must be dead." She hoped her hastily-concocted story would be enough to convince the clerk.

"Let me try his room." The clerk picked up the phone.

"I'm sorry," she said after hanging up several seconds later. "No one's answering. I can leave him a message if you'd like."

"Can't you give me a key? Or at least tell me his room number?"

"I'm really not supposed to."

"You know I'm with him. You saw us check in together earlier," Donna reminded her, pleading. "I'm just – I'm worried about him. He wasn't feeling well. That's why he got a separate room. I just want to check in on him and see if he's okay." She supposed that part wasn't exactly a lie.

"He did look awfully pale when he was here," the clerk remembered, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. "Okay, fine, but you didn't get it from me. He's in room 212."

"Thank you," Donna breathed a sigh of relief. "Can I have a key?" she ventured, having a strong suspicion that Josh might not answer the door if she knocked. "I mean, if he's asleep – which he probably is, I suppose, since he didn't answer the phone – I wouldn't want to disturb him…"

The clerk hesitated for a moment, and then sighed. "Fine." She handed Donna a card key.

"Thank you so much."

_She shouldn't have done that,_ Donna thought as she headed down the hall. _She had no idea what kind of scam I might have been trying to pull._ Still, she wasn't about to complain.

She arrived at Josh's room and opened the door. The room was empty, triggering a sense of anxiety which turned to alarm when she noticed a nearly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the bedside table, along with a glass. Josh had never been much of a drinker, mainly because his sensitive system never failed to punish him severely the next morning whenever he overindulged. She couldn't imagine what kind of shape he must be in at the moment. And where was he? The keys to the rental car were in her purse, so at least she could be sure he wasn't behind the wheel, but she couldn't shake a frightening image of him wandering the unfamiliar streets of Houston, drunk and distraught.

She spotted his BlackBerry, which was also sitting on the table, and couldn't resist picking it up to check the notifications. She saw the missed call and text from her, as well as a missed call from Sam, and a few voicemail messages. At least it hadn't been only her calls he'd been ignoring, she thought. But she found it strange and worrisome that he would have gone out and left the phone at the hotel. He usually couldn't stand to be without it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a low groan coming from behind the closed door to the bathroom. She felt a wave of relief mixed with sympathy.

"Josh?" She cracked open the bathroom door and saw him slumped over the toilet. He had obviously been vomiting.

"Oh Josh," she walked up to him and bent over, putting her arms around him.

"Go away." He shrugged out of her embrace.

"Josh, come on. I think you should go lie down." She attempted to help him to his feet, but he wouldn't budge.

"Leave me alone. You don't have to be here. I told you I was fine."

"You're not fine." she knelt beside him and tried again to put her arms around him. "Josh, Mrs. Santos feels really bad about what she said."

She felt him start to shake, and pulled him a little closer.

"She didn't mean it," Donna repeated what she'd told him earlier.

"Yes, she did. I ruined her life. Just like I ruined your life. That's just what I do to people, I guess."

"My life? What are you talking about?"

"I kept you down for years, didn't I?"

"What? Of course not."

"Come on, Donna. Yes I did, and you hated me for it. The only reason you ever even, you know, started talking to me again was because you felt sorry for me because Leo died. But you hated me. You probably still hate me. Because I cancelled our lunches, and I didn't give you a promotion, and I almost got you killed. I mean, God, I don't blame you. You have every right to hate me. But I can't…I just…I don't want your pity, Donna."

Tears stung her eyes. Was that really what Josh had thought? She struggled to maintain her composure. "You're drunk, Josh. You don't know what you're talking about. Now if you want to sleep on the bathroom floor tonight, that's your business, but-"

"Although, really, you should consider yourself lucky." His voice had an edge to it now. "Not too many people get close to me and live to tell the tale. Just ask Matt Santos. Oh wait, you can't."

"Josh."

"Why are you even here? Why don't you just leave?" He had turned around to face her now, still sitting on the floor. She could see tears welling in his eyes. "I'm not good enough for you. I'm never going to be good enough for you, so you might as well just break up with me now and get it over with. What are you waiting for? You know you're going to do it eventually, and I can't just keep waiting around for, you know, the ax to drop."

"Stop it, Josh!" she snapped. "I don't hate you, and I'm not leaving, so knock it off."

"You will. You feel sorry for me again now because of Matt, but you'll get over it. All I do is keep you down." Some of the pain in his voice gave way to anger. "I mean, because everything you know, you learned from Will Bailey."

Donna stood up and took a step back, staring at him in shock. Where was all of this coming from?

"You meant Will. Of course you meant Will." Bitterness filled his voice. "Because that day you walked into the Bartlet campaign office…you were already fully capable of being a high-level operative in a major presidential campaign, right Donna? You already knew all about how things get done in Washington, the inner workings of the White House, Capitol Hill, what the inside of a presidential campaign looks like, how to navigate DC politics – all of it. Right? All I ever taught you was how to answer phones and…and burn hamburgers. Being with me was just one big fat waste of eight years of your life." He practically spat out those last words.

She felt her face flush beet red with a strange mixture of rage and shame. "For God's sake, Josh, it was a joke."

"Right. Sure it was, Donna. Just like you were 'joking' when you said Russell launched your career, and you were 'joking' when you said all I'd given you was a grunt-level servitude job as a short order cook, and you were 'joking' when you called the Santos campaign a Dr. Seuss nightmare and made fun of Ronna's name." He was ranting now, his whole body shaking.

"Josh-"

"You know, you didn't use to think that was something to be mocked, Donna – working for a candidate who's worth fighting for even when the polls don't give him a chance, and his campaign can't afford to pay decent salaries, and there won't be much prestige that goes along with the job. But I know, I know, you've changed. You make sure I never forget that, not for a second. You're the 'new and improved' Donna now."

"Screw you, Josh!" Rage began overtaking all the other emotions she felt. "I know Helen Santos hurt you, but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on me."

"Then just go!" Josh bellowed. "I told you I didn't want you here. Just leave already!"

She stared at him for a moment, shaking.

"Fine. Happy to." She grabbed the whiskey bottle from the end table before turning and storming out of the door.

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Donna sat on the bed in the hotel room she and Josh had originally rented together, tears streaming down her face. Josh's angry words echoed in her mind, tormenting her.

_What a jerk. What an absolute son of a bitch. _Yes, he was hurting, and drunk, but neither of those things was her fault. She'd done nothing to deserve him turning on her like that.

She seethed with fury at his bitter, sarcastic comment about the "new and improved Donna." She should have known. He'd done a good job of pretending, but the truth had finally come out. He didn't want her to succeed professionally. If he had his way, she would have been answering his phones for the rest of her life, or since he couldn't have that, he'd probably like to see her lying around the house barefoot and pregnant.

What a complete and total chauvinist pig. He'd really given himself away when he'd said she'd only started talking to him again because Leo had died. Had he really forgotten that they'd started sleeping together before that? Had those encounters been so unimportant to him that he didn't even remember? Apparently she'd just been another notch on his belt.

But even as she fumed, she couldn't completely suppress a painful awareness that the main reason his words had cut so deeply was the truth they had contained. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew exactly what he'd meant about Leo. Sleeping together wasn't the same thing as kindness, friendship, and caring, and she'd shown him very little of any of those things until the moment they'd gotten that awful news. And for that matter, the warmth and sympathy she'd offered him then hadn't lasted much longer than a week, at which point she'd begun handing him ultimatums. There was a part of her that was quite certain she'd deserved every word he'd thrown at her, and probably quite a bit more, and that in fact it was probably good that he'd finally said those things out loud, even if it had taken an obscene amount of alcohol to get him to do it. She shuddered to think how long he must have been bottling up those feelings.

_It's not like he was exactly warm and fuzzy toward me, either, _she reminded herself, not wanting to let go of her anger. _He was the one who didn't even want to hire me for the Santos campaign. He knew how good I was, but he was too petty and spiteful to give me a job._ And yes, she knew those quotes she'd given the press about Santos had been a little…problematic, but Lou had been willing to look past them. Josh could have done the same if he'd really wanted to. But he hadn't wanted to.

_He said I hated him._ Those words stung all over again as she remembered them. _I don't care how drunk he was – how dare he? Just because I quit my job, because I didn't want to be his assistant forever, the self-pitying jerk decides I hate him?_

_It wasn't that you left your job. It was how you did it,_ an uncomfortable nagging voice inside her head informed her.

Yeah, yeah, she knew that. It hadn't exactly been her finest hour, quitting without so much as five minutes' notice, doing nothing to train her replacement, even letting him walk out of the building that evening thinking she hadn't been serious. It certainly hadn't been how she'd planned things. She'd tried to give notice, after all. Seven times he'd cancelled that lunch. Seven times! What was she supposed to have done?

_That's not an excuse and you know it,_ the voice scolded.

Okay, fine, she did know that. To claim she'd needed him to buy her a salad in order to resign her job properly had to be the mother of all cop-outs. Still, that had been more than a year ago. For heaven's sake, wasn't the guy ever going to let it go?

_It was also how you treated him after you quit._

"Oh, shut up," she muttered aloud, immediately feeling a wave of dismay at the realization that not only was she arguing with herself, she appeared to be losing.

She knew it was true, of course. She was well aware that the "I meant Will" barb ranked among the crappier things she'd ever said to Josh. She still didn't quite know what had induced her to say it. She and Josh had been actually been getting along for a few moments there. They'd been on the same wavelength for the first time since she'd quit her job, bonding over their mutual disgust at Ray Sullivan's speech. Josh had complimented her, a look of warmth and respect on his face that still warmed her heart whenever she let herself remember it. And then she'd thrust a completely unprovoked knife in his gut and walked away, smiling smugly as she left.

She was also aware that she'd never actually apologized for that remark. She'd tried to tell herself it had just been banter, just trash talk between two opposing campaigns, but she'd known full well that he'd taken it personally. If she was really honest with herself, she knew she'd also meant for him to take it personally. Somehow, particularly during her time on the Russell campaign, she'd come to thoroughly enjoy taking verbal slaps at Josh whenever the opportunity arose – and the harder they landed, the more they stung him, the better. Her face flushed in shame. That sounded like the description of a gang of junior high school 'mean girls', not an adult woman, a professional, someone who most people thought of as a very nice person. That was the version of the "new Donna" Josh had been subjected to, she realized; could she really blame him for not being unequivocally thrilled by it?

_"You…hate me…because I cancelled our lunches, and I didn't give you a promotion, and I almost got you killed."_

She shivered as she remembered those words. She _had_ been angry about those first two things. Truthfully, she was still a little angry about them, although she realized they probably hadn't justified her behavior. And of course she'd known that he most likely blamed himself for what had happened in Gaza – as she'd told Helen Santos, that was what Josh did. But had he really believed that she blamed him, too? Had he actually thought _that_ had been why she'd left her job?

And why wouldn't he have thought that? Practically the minute she'd gotten back from Germany, she'd started sniping at him over everything from wine to luggage, and then she'd walked out on her job with no notice, no explanation, no 'thank you for all you've done for me'…nothing. What had he been supposed to think? Donna felt her heart breaking. How could she have been so insensitive?

She wiped the tears from her face and let out a long breath, forcing herself to stop reliving the argument with Josh and focus on the present. She started to feel sick as she thought about the way she'd left him. He was in that hotel room, probably still on the bathroom floor, at what had to be at least among the top five lowest moments of his life – and that was saying a lot, given how heartbreakingly many low points Josh had had in his forty-plus years – and she'd stormed out because her feelings had gotten hurt.

She was also worried. He was so drunk. She'd taken the remainder of the whiskey, but what if he had another bottle somewhere, or what if he went to the liquor store down the street to get some more? She wasn't sure how many drinks it would take for someone Josh's size to develop alcohol poisoning, but she didn't want to find out. Or what if he hurt himself, either accidentally or – and she couldn't stand to think it, but under the circumstances she couldn't rule it out – not so accidentally? If something happened to him, she knew she'd never forgive herself for leaving him alone.

She got off the bed and left the hotel room, nearly running as she made her way to Josh's room. She arrived to find him sprawled out on the bed, apparently asleep. As she approached him, she could see that his face was streaked with tears. She put her hand on his chest just to reassure herself that he was still breathing, and then she sat down the bed next to him. She called Sam to let him know that she'd found Josh and he was drunk but safe, not mentioning anything about the words that had been exchanged between them. After she hung up, she slipped under the covers, resting her head lightly on Josh's shoulder. She knew she wasn't going to be able to fall asleep, but she wanted to be beside him when he woke up.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Thanks to sfchemist for encouraging me to put more of Jed Bartlet in the story...

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"Turn off the light," Josh groaned, blinking rapidly as he rolled over in the bed.

"The lights aren't on," Donna informed him.

"It's bright."

"It's just the light coming from the window."

He groaned again and slowly sat up. "What time…"

"A little past noon." She smiled softly. "Would you like some Tylenol?"

He nodded. "Or…you know…you could just hit me over the head with a sledgehammer or something."

"Don't tempt me." She gave him two white tablets, and poured him a mug of the coffee she'd brewed. "I made it as strong as I could."

"I don't…feel so good."

"That's what happens when you get drunk. You know that as well as I do. People with sensitive systems shouldn't-"

"You know I hate it when you use that phrase."

"You can hate it all you want. It doesn't make it any less true. You have a very sensitive system." _In more ways than one._

He ran his hands briskly through his hair, slowly becoming more alert. "The funeral…"

"We don't have to be at the church till three." She paused. "Are you hungry? I got us some Egg McMuffins. Yours is probably a little cold by now, but-"

"Thanks." He gave her an appreciative look as she handed him the fast food bag. "You're so good at taking care of me." Then suddenly his expression changed. "Right…sorry…peppermint ice cream and all…"

She bit her lip, looking downward. Did he really remember every single snarky thing she'd said to him over the past two years? "Josh-"

He stared at the bedsheets. "Donna, look…I don't remember exactly what I said to you last night, but-"

Her eyes began involuntarily welling with tears as his outburst came back to her. Somehow it hurt even more that he didn't remember it, although she knew that wasn't exactly surprising.

A stricken look crossed Josh's face when saw her reaction. "Oh God. It was that bad?"

She tried to formulate a response, but a huge lump had formed in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Donna. I'm so sorry."

She looked at him calmly, managing to regain her composure. "You don't even remember what you said. How do you know if you're sorry or not?"

"Fair point," he conceded. "I remember yelling at you…something about-"

"Shh. Don't." She held up her hand. They needed to talk, she knew that, but not now. Not when he had a massive hangover and they were going to be burying Matt Santos in a few hours.

"Donna-"

"Don't worry about it right now. You need to eat your Egg McMuffin, drink your coffee, and take a shower." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you."

A tender smile formed on his face. They'd each used the "L" word once, on their vacation together, but somehow they'd stopped saying it to each other since then. "I love you too," he told her softly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh walked somberly out of the sanctuary of the church. The Mass had ended, and they would be leaving shortly for the graveside service at the cemetery. Donna had stepped aside to speak with Helen Santos. Josh couldn't quite bring himself to approach Helen, although he knew eventually he was going to have to.

His head was still throbbing. The Tylenol Donna had given him had helped a little, but not much. It served him right, he knew. It had been stupid of him to get drunk, especially on the night before Matt's funeral. And he couldn't stop thinking about what he might or might not have said to Donna. He remembered bits and pieces of conversation, angry words about campaigns and careers and Will Bailey. He wasn't sure how much of what he was remembering had actually happened, and how much he was just imagining, but the look on her face that morning had made it clear that whatever he'd said, it must have been unforgivably awful. He began to feel sick. He'd hurt her. Again.

"Josh," President Bartlet interrupted his thoughts, coming up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. President."

"You look like hell," Jed commented, eyeing him appraisingly.

"I never get tired of hearing that, sir."

Jed smiled sympathetically. "It was a lovely service."

"Yeah."

They walked together into the lobby, standing silently for a moment. Josh found himself gazing through the glass doors of the church at the protesters who had assembled on the sidewalk. There weren't many of them, maybe about 15 in all, but their signs were certainly disgusting enough to get them the publicity they obviously wanted.

Jed followed his gaze, shaking his head angrily. "I swear, if it wouldn't make the front page of every newspaper in the country, I'd storm out there right now and tell those idiots exactly what I think of them."

"I'd pay good money to see that," Josh commented, managing a slight smile.

"They're claiming to speak for the Church, Josh. Now, they have a first amendment right to be out there; I don't dispute that. It's a public sidewalk, and they have the right to stand there and hold whatever signs they want. But how _dare_ they-" he paused when he realized his voice had gotten louder and several people had glanced in his direction. "They're claiming to speak for the Church. How dare they do that?"

Josh nodded quietly.

The President continued. "And you know what really burns me up? The cable news shows will probably devote all of about five minutes to talking about religion in the context of all this, and during those five minutes, they're going to be talking about _them_ – those un-Christlike jackasses on the sidewalk. _They're_ going to be presented as the face of Catholicism – not that priest in the sanctuary who's known the Santos family since Matt was a kid, who helped his parents out time and again when they were out of work and struggling to put food on the table, who probably had a lot to do with their son growing up to be elected President. It's no wonder so much of the world thinks religious folk are a bunch of intolerant bigots – look who gets the headlines."

"Yeah, sensationalism usually wins out over substance, unfortunately," Josh responded.

"Yep."

They walked over to a sofa and sat down. "It's been a rough couple of years for all of us, hasn't it?" Jed observed. "Gaza, Leo, and now this. I don't believe in a malevolent God, but I have to tell you, at times like this my faith is tested."

"It wasn't God who asked a man recovering from a heart attack to run for Vice President." Josh's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Leo wanted to run, Josh," Jed assured him. "He made the decision, not you – and you know, I bet even now, if we could ask him, he'd say he wasn't sorry." He looked at Josh carefully for a moment. "I bet Matt Santos would say the same thing."

"You think he'd say the campaign was worth leaving his kids without a father?"

"I think he'd say that you don't shrink from something like running for President because you're afraid of what some extremists with guns might do. At least, no one worthy of the office does that."

"Maybe." Josh sat in pensive silence for a long moment, still thinking about Leo. "That night at Camp David, the night of Leo's first heart attack…I talked to him just before he went for that walk in the woods. He looked awful. He was pale, and sweating. He said he was okay. I shouldn't have believed him. I should have stayed with him-" his voice broke off. He found himself suddenly filled with anxiety at what the President's reaction would be to learning it had been Josh's fault that his dearest friend had laid alone in the woods near death for hours.

Jed stared at him, a pained look on his face. "Josh, don't tell me – God, don't tell me you've been blaming yourself for what happened that night." Josh stared at the ground, and Jed continued. "Trust me, if anyone's to blame for that, it's me, not you."

"You?" Josh looked at him in confusion.

There was a long silence before Jed continued. "No one knows this, Josh. The only person I ever told was Abbey, and I don't think Leo ever told anyone at all." He paused. "That night, when Leo and I went outside to talk – I fired him."

"You…_what_?" Josh didn't bother to try and hide his shock. He couldn't have heard the President correctly. Maybe he was in worse shape after last night's drinking binge than he'd realized.

"I fired him," Jed repeated grimly. "I suppose it's no secret that we'd been clashing over how to handle the whole Middle East situation. We were arguing about it that night, of course, and the long and short of it is he told me his counsel was no longer of use to me. I got angry that he seemed to be threatening me with his resignation, and the next thing I knew, I was asking him for a list of names for his successor." He paused. "There's no doubt in my mind that's what triggered his heart attack."

"He'd been having symptoms all day, Mr. President," Josh told him quickly. "He tried to blame it on heartburn, but – that heart attack was coming no matter what."

"Yes," Jed nodded. "But it was because of me that it happened when it did. It was because of me that he went wandering outside in the woods instead of coming back into the cabin where he would have gotten help right away. Josh, I tell you, if he hadn't lived, I don't know what I would have-" his voice broke off momentarily. "And I'll always wonder…how much damage was done to his heart that night that didn't need to be? Abbey told me that time is muscle: every minute he was out there in the woods damaged his heart more. And so I can't help but think…if he hadn't gone so long without treatment, that second heart attack might never have happened."

Josh stared at him in amazement. His words reflected exactly the agonizing thoughts that had gone through Josh's own mind since Leo's death. The President's revelation didn't assuage his guilt; whatever had happened between the two of them, it didn't change the fact that Josh had been the last person to see Leo, and he never should have left him. But somehow there was some consolation in talking to someone who could understand those feelings, who didn't think he was being childish and irrational for harboring that kind of guilt.

And he was still reeling over what the President had just told him. He couldn't help but think of all the times he'd felt his counsel was of no value to Matt. It had never occurred to him that Leo and the President, who had known each other for so many years and who had always seemed to Josh like two peas in a pod, could ever have had similar conflicts.

Jed gazed at him, seeming to read his mind. "You and Matt had your share of disagreements along the way, didn't you?"

Josh chuckled shortly. "Yeah, you could say that."

"It's perfectly normal."

"I guess." Josh was quiet for a moment. "He almost fired me once, you know."

"After the Illinois dust-up?"

"Yeah."

"Would have been the biggest mistake of his life."

"Maybe, maybe not," Josh shrugged. "A part of me wondered why he hadn't done it a long time ago. He never seemed to agree with much of my advice – and he turned out to be right more often than not, which, yeah, it made me proud of him – I mean, I want my President to be, you know, smarter than me – but suffice it to say it didn't exactly work wonders for my ego."

"You did your job as a campaign manager, Josh, and you did it phenomenally well. You gave him the best strategic advice anyone could have." Jed paused. "But you're right, that's not why he won. At least, it wasn't the main reason. He won because he was able to connect with voters, and sell them on his vision for the country, and frankly make them fall in love with him a little bit. That's how it's supposed to work, believe it or not. You can have the best campaign staff in the world – and believe me, you need to have that – but if you, the candidate, aren't the one who ultimately persuades the voters, then a victory doesn't really represent anything more than a fantastic marketing campaign."

Josh shook his head. "It was so different from any campaign I'd worked on before. I mean, the reason I left Hoynes to work for you was because he was too busy playing politics to talk about Social Security, or any other issue, for that matter, that God forbid might cost him a point or two in the polls. With Matt, it was the polar opposite. I was the one who kept telling him to basically screw the issues in favor of political expediency, and he'd shoot me down. I didn't like it. It made me feel…I don't know, sleazy, making those kinds of arguments. But I was just afraid if I didn't, he was going to end up as one more passionate, idealistic candidate who never made it past New Hampshire."

Jed was quiet for a moment. "Josh, listen. I can't say I ever got to know Matt all that well, but I am one of the few people on the planet who's experienced what he did…running for President, getting your party's nomination, and then being elected President. There are no words to describe it. It's exhilarating, and humbling, but most of all it's terrifying beyond belief. During the campaign, there's the fear of losing. And it's not the fear that you won't get to be President. It's the fear – the terror, really – of failing, of letting the party down, of disappointing all those millions of people who supported you, of being responsible for putting your opponent, whose vision for America you don't share, in the White House for at least the next four years."

"I was afraid of those things too," Josh said quietly.

"I know you were. And I've never been a campaign manager, so I can't say I know what that experience is like. But when it's your name on all those campaign signs, when it's you who will be forever branded a loser if the election doesn't work out…let me tell you, it's personal. And then winning…it's the moment you've fantasized about, but once it happens, the reality hits and you realize the kinds of decisions you're going to be faced with once you take that oath – decisions about life and death, war and peace, and you're going to be making them every day. And you'll have your advisors around you, of course, but ultimately the decisions are going to be yours and yours alone. You think you've prepared yourself for that reality, but until the networks declare you the winner on election night, you haven't got a clue." He paused for a moment. "And me, I launched my campaign months before Iowa, and I had my best friend running it. You and Matt were just getting to know each other and formulating your vision for the campaign right in the middle of the Iowa/New Hampshire pressure cooker. Think about it, Josh. It wasn't even eleven months from the day you flew down to Houston and gave him your nine-point plan to the day he was elected President." Jed shook his head. "It's not remarkable that you guys had some rough patches. What is remarkable – what's nothing short of miraculous, really – was the way you were able to work through your differences and pull off what absolutely no one, myself included I'm ashamed to admit, thought would be possible. The Matthew Santos presidential campaign will be studied and analyzed for years to come. Poli Sci majors in universities across the country will write term papers about it. It was historic in every sense of the word." He paused and gave Josh an affectionate look. "I was so very proud of what you did, Josh. I don't know if I ever really told you that."

Josh felt tears unexpectedly well in his eyes at that. "Thank you, sir."

"Although," Jed added, trying to lighten the mood slightly, "I have to admit I'm starting to wish Matt hadn't listened to you after all about not meddling in the Speaker's race. It might have been bad politics, but at least we wouldn't have ended up with the national joke that is the Sellner presidency."

Josh nodded in agreement. "Can't anyone, you know, talk some sense into that guy?"

"I'm told Louise Thornton gave it her best, and her reputation precedes her. If she couldn't do it, I'm not sure who could."

Josh looked at the President intently for a moment. "I can think of someone who might have a shot."

"Who?"

"You."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh stared at the fresh gravesite as people slowly began to leave, his heart aching at the end of what had been an incredibly emotional day on so many levels. He realized that he and Matt had spent practically every waking minute together for more than a year. Even now, it still seemed strange to think that he would never see him again. He found himself missing everything about his former boss, even their arguments. Despite their occasional differences of opinion, and through the good times and not such good times, his confidence that Matt had been the right person to succeed Jed Bartlet as President had never wavered.

He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a rush of white hot fury at the thought that a group of white supremacists with guns and with nothing better to do with their lives than hate could have done this – could have left two children without their father, a wife without her husband, and a country without its duly elected leader. These were the same people who had opened fire on a presidential entourage for no other reason than they didn't like the fact that the President's body man was dating a white woman. It was the same brand of ideology, the same penchant for violence, that had caused some terrorists in Gaza to plant a roadside bomb, and Josh's grandfather to suffer unspeakable horrors during the Holocaust.

_We need to kill them,_ eerily familiar words echoed in his mind. _You kill the people who did it, you kill the people who planned it, and then you kill everyone who's happy about it. _He knew that wasn't the answer, but it pretty well summed up how he felt at the moment.

"Josh?" He turned to see Helen Santos standing behind him, still holding the folded flag that had been presented to her during the ceremony.

"Mrs. Santos."

"Call me Helen. Please." She slowly approached him. "Can I apologize again for what I said last night?"

"There's no need to."

"Yes there is. I acted horribly. I just got so upset, and-" she sighed. "But that's no excuse. It was an awful thing to say. What happened to Matt wasn't your fault by any stretch of the imagination, I know that."

"Well, in a way-"

"No," she cut him off. "You know, I've looked for someone to blame in all this, to try to make some sense of it I guess. I've blamed you. I've blamed the Secret Service. I've blamed the guy in the crowd who pushed the gunman down, because why couldn't his reflexes have been faster? I've blamed myself. I've even blamed Matt. It's all absurd. There's no one to blame, no one but the monsters who did this. I know they were the same people who nearly killed you…'

Josh tensed slightly. "After that shooting – after Rosslyn – I had an opportunity to sue the hate groups for a huge sum of money," he told her, feeling that she should know all the facts before she let him off the hook. "I probably would have won, and maybe-"

"Maybe what? You think they wouldn't have been able to afford guns?" She shook her head. Donna had been right about Josh and guilt, she realized. "You can't stop people like that with lawsuits. If you could, they would have been out of business a long time ago."

"How do you stop them, then?" Josh asked, more to himself than to Helen.

"I don't know."

"I should have advised him to name a VP through the Electoral College," he said quietly. "I wasn't at my best – not even close – when that whole debate was going on. I never even really weighed in on it. And I was off on vacation when the final decision was made. I should have realized we were creating a huge motive for someone to-"

"He had plenty of people advising him to use the Electoral College," Helen assured him. "His mind was made up."

"They were advising him about the political advantages. I don't think any of us even considered…this."

"Josh," she shook her head. "It wasn't your fault. It really wasn't."

He shrugged, not looking convinced, but managed a tight smile. "Thanks." He paused. "You and the kids, you'll always...be in my thoughts. You know that, right?"

"Yes," she smiled softly. "Thank you."

Donna walked up to Josh and slipped an arm around his waist. They said goodbye to Helen, and walked together away from the gravesite.


	17. Chapter 17

Ainsley fidgeted nervously, sitting beside Ray Sullivan as they rode in a motorcade toward a venue in central Ohio, where the governor would formally introduce her as his choice to be Vice President if he should win the election – his unofficial running mate.

She couldn't believe how fast all this had happened. She still had her doubts as to whether she'd made the right decision in telling Governor Sullivan yes. Was she really qualified to be a heartbeat away from the presidency? And if not, wasn't she morally obligated to turn down the offer? She'd stayed up all night with her staunch Republican friends after receiving the offer, mulling over those questions and more. They had insisted that Ray Sullivan was a smart man, and that he wouldn't have asked her if he didn't think she was: a) up for the job, and b) the best person to help him win the election. They'd regaled her with horror stories of what a Baker administration would be like: all the government programs he'd work to expand, the taxes he'd raise, the activist judges he'd appoint. It would be worse than it was under Bartlet, they'd told her, because now the Democrats also had control of the House. They'd insisted it was her patriotic duty to do everything she could to make sure Ray Sullivan was the next President.

After an endless night of soul-searching, she'd made her choice. She had never been one to shy away from a challenge. And the 48 hours that had followed that decision had been a whirlwind. The Sullivan campaign staff had conducted an expedited vetting of everything from her tax returns to her college transcripts. She couldn't help but wonder if, in the rush to make the announcement, they'd been thorough enough, although she didn't have anything to hide. Not that she knew of, anyway. And as of today, she even had her own Secret Service detail, which felt extraordinarily weird. Strictly speaking, she wasn't even a candidate for anything, but given recent events, President Sellner had ordered that the unofficial vice presidential candidates receive Secret Service protection.

"How are you feeling?" Ray asked her.

"Like I want to throw up."

"You're going to be fantastic," he assured her. "This is going to be a landslide election, I can feel it. You're going to turn the political world on its head the minute you walk out there onto the stage. You'll be all anyone talks about for days – weeks, maybe. People are going to fall in love with you."

"That's what we're counting on?"

"You better believe it. Ainsley, I don't know if you realize how uniquely positioned you are in terms of the demographics you'll appeal to. Conservatives know you're one of them. They've read all your columns. They're crazy about you. And moderates will see you as bipartisan because you worked for Jed Bartlet and you'd been named White House Counsel in the Santos administration. Energizing the base and appealing to moderates at the same time – that's something only you could pull off."

"That's nice of you to say, Governor."

"Call me Ray."

"Yes, sir."

He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, as if that weren't enough, this election is going to be all about national security. People are scared out of their minds, given everything that's happened. And when people are scared, Republicans win."

"We can't take the issue for granted, though," Ainsley cautioned. "We have to be prepared to articulate what exactly we're going to do to keep this country safe. We need to give voters a reason – a real reason, not just the fact that we have the word "Republican" after our names – why they should trust us with their security. What_ is _our national security plan, exactly?" She suddenly realized she hadn't actually heard the governor offer much in the way of specifics in that policy area – or any policy area, for that matter. She was well-versed on the policy platforms of the Vinick/Sullivan ticket during last year's campaign, of course. But those had been Arnold Vinick's positions, not Ray Sullivan's.

"We do whatever it takes – that's our plan," he told her, his eyes gleaming with intensity. "That's what makes us different from the Democrats, and that's why we win on this issue. We want to get the bad guys, no ifs, ands, or buts. The Democrats, they're more concerned with reading terrorists their rights than with keeping American families safe."

"That's not true," Ainsley couldn't resist defending her former colleagues in the Bartlet administration, as well as the people she'd gotten to know preparing for her job in the Santos White House. "And besides, those rights are in the Constitution. Surely our side agrees that the Constitution is important."

"Of course. A strict interpretation of the Constitution," Ray shrugged. "But when people are scared, they don't want a civics lecture. They want to know they have a President who will protect them."

Ainsley bit her lip. She couldn't help but be a little uncomfortable with the governor's tone, but she knew he was right; the tough rhetoric would play extremely well with voters. And besides, she reminded herself, he'd just lost a close friend to an assassination. It had to be a very personal issue for him.

He continued: "Anyway, we're going to have one heck of a news cycle coming up. I can't wait for the networks to start playing, in endless loop, that _Capital Beat_ clip with you and Eric Baker's campaign manager, Sam Seaborn. Our staff is emailing the video clip to all the networks, just to make sure they don't miss it." He began to sound positively giddy. "This is going to be great. The Baker campaign isn't going to know what hit it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"Thank you all for coming out," Ray Sullivan announced to an energized crowd. "It's been a tumultuous few weeks for our country. It's been an extraordinarily painful time for those of us who knew and cared about Arnold Vinick. That he will never sit in the Oval Office is tremendous loss for our nation. But I am determined to draw inspiration from his values and principles, and with your help, I will bring those values with me into the White House. And when I do, I will need to nominate a Vice President." He paused as cheers erupted from the crowd. "You have the right to know, before you vote, who that person will be. So, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the person who is my choice for that office. She's a Harvard Law graduate, a brilliant attorney, a woman who is a dedicated, life-long Republican but whose love for her country surpasses partisan identification. She served in Jed Bartlet's Office of Legal Counsel. She had been named as White House Counsel by Matthew Santos. And she also served for several years in the Majority Counsel's office on Capitol Hill. She will be an invaluable asset to my administration. I am pleased to introduce to all of you the next Vice President of the United States – Ainsley Hayes."_

Sam sat frozen in his seat. He, Eric, Donna, and Ronna were gathered in their newly-acquired campaign office, watching the announcement. They'd spent the last several hours tossing around names, trying to figure out who Ray Sullivan was going to choose, but none of them had anticipated this.

"What the…" Eric Baker struggled to make sense of the situation. "Sam, just what the hell is he trying to pull?"

"I don't know," Sam shook his head, still reeling. "I mean, I know her pretty well. She and I worked together for awhile during President Bartlet's first term. But…" his voice trailed off.

"She's not…" Ronna attempted to digest the information. The television was already on split screen, showing biographical information about Ainsley on a side panel as they carried her speech live. "I mean, is she really qualified? Her credentials seem a little thin to be a heartbeat away from the presidency, don't they?"

"Trust me, she's brilliant," Donna said immediately.

"Sam?" Eric looked at him.

"She's…" He was still struggling to find the right words. "Donna's right. She's brilliant. She's one of the smartest people I know. Heck, if I had to choose, I'd probably rather have her as President than Ray Sullivan. I mean, at least I know she has principles, and she's a decent person. But on paper…" he paused, trying to sort through his thoughts. "On paper at least, I have to agree with Ronna, it's hard to argue that she's qualified."

"Sam," Donna gave him a reproachful look.

"I love Ainsley, Donna. I'm just trying to look at this objectively. Someone with her resume, if I didn't know her personally, I'd have a hard time imagining her as Vice President of the United States."

"Underestimating Ainsley Hayes – how well has that worked out for you in the past?" Donna gave him a pointed look.

"Not so well, now that you mention it."

"What are you guys talking about?" Eric glanced between them, confused.

"Oh, I have a feeling you'll find out soon enough," Sam grimaced, suddenly wondering how many minutes it would take for the networks to start playing and replaying that infamous _Capital Beat_ clip. "Anyway, Donna's right. We underestimate her at our peril."

"Will she…" Eric paused. "I mean, Ray Sullivan's just picked a female running mate, something that's historically pretty noteworthy. So if CJ says yes to us, and we announce her as our VP choice, will it look like…you know, like we just picked a woman to keep up with Sullivan?"

"I don't think anyone can accuse us of tokenism with CJ," Sam told him. "Comparing her resume to Ainsley's – Sullivan's just lucky we didn't announce first. If we had, that's exactly what the Ainsley pick would have looked like."

"Sam?" Karen, a young woman in her twenties who they'd recently hired as an assistant, stepped into the room.

"Yeah?"

"I have someone from MSNBC on the line. They want to know if the Baker campaign has any reaction to Ray Sullivan's selection of Ainsley Hayes for Vice President."

"Okay," he sighed and got up to take the call.

"And after you're done talking to them, CNN, ABC, CBS, and FOX News are all holding for you."

He nodded and picked up the phone.

"Sam, does the Baker campaign have a reaction to Ray Sullivan's selection of Ainsley Hayes as a potential Vice President?" the reporter asked.

He paused for a moment, searching for the right tone. "Look, I think we're living in dangerous times. We need people who bring years of experience to the table."

"Are you saying Ms. Hayes is underqualified?"

"I'm saying…look, I know Ainsley Hayes. She's very smart. But she…well, she's a lawyer. And she's a good lawyer, don't get me wrong. But she's never held elected office. She's done nothing to demonstrate that she's prepared to assume the role of Vice President, or President if God forbid circumstances were to necessitate her stepping into that role."

"Got it." The reporter sounded pleased with the statement, which immediately made him nervous. Had he gone too far? "Thank you, Sam."

He hung up the phone and turned around to see Donna standing behind him, her arms folded. "You don't think that was a little harsh?"

"This is a campaign."

"And you really think you'd be reacting the same way if she were a man instead of a blond, leggy woman?"

"Yes, I would." Sam looked offended at her insinuation. "What's this about, Donna?"

"She's my friend."

"She's my friend, too. But as of right now, she's also our political opponent, and that's just the reality."

"Those two things can be hard to balance," Donna said quietly.

"Yeah." Sam looked at her carefully for a moment. "How are things with Josh?"

She just shrugged. She and Josh hadn't actually spoken much since Matt's funeral. It was as though much of the tension and awkwardness that had existed between them after she'd quit her job had returned. The plane ride back from Texas had been marked by occasional small talk and a lot of silence. She knew they needed to talk, but she still wasn't sure what she wanted to say to him. One moment she was filled with remorse for all the ways she'd hurt him the past few years, and wanted to beg his forgiveness. She'd been so cruel, and so utterly ungrateful for all he'd done for her, and a part of her couldn't even imagine why he still wanted anything to do with her.

But then she'd remind herself of what CJ had told her before Gaza – that Josh had been intentionally keeping her down just because he didn't want to be bothered with finding and training another good assistant, and how pathetic she'd been for letting him get away with it all those years – and she would once again feel satisfied that Josh had deserved every rotten thing she'd ever said or done to him, and more. CJ had been right, she must have been. If one thing had been clear in Josh's drunken ramblings, it was that he wasn't pleased with the "new Donna", the successful, upwardly-mobile, career-oriented Donna. She was proud of her professional growth, and it hurt and infuriated her to think that he wasn't.

But she couldn't say that to Josh, either, could she? She couldn't pick a fight with him, not when he was in so much pain already. He'd told her that Helen had apologized again for what she'd said. He'd assured Donna that he knew she'd just blurted it out in a bad moment, and that he was long past it, but Donna knew better. That was the kind of remark that would stay with Josh for a long time, maybe forever, and that an apology couldn't erase. _Kind of like 'I meant Will'_, she suddenly realized sadly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"CJ," President Sellner stepped through the doorway to her office.

"Mr. President," she got to her feet, slightly startled. She'd just been ready to step out of the office and meet Sam for lunch, but she had a feeling those plans were about to change.

"I'm going to want to arrange a press conference in the next day or so," he told her simply. "I'm dropping the lawsuit."

She stared at him with a mixture of surprise and relief. "Can I ask what changed your mind?"

He smiled slightly. "I just had a phone call from a certain very persuasive former President."

"President Bartlet called you?" CJ looked at him in surprise.

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

He…well, let's just say he told me a little bit about what it was like for you guys after Zoey's kidnapping, when you were all trying to regain your footing right at the same time his approval ratings nose-dived. Congress was against you, even the Democrats. I remember that. I think I actually advised a number of House members that it wasn't in their best interest to align themselves with the White House. You guys couldn't get anything done – everything you tried seemed to backfire."

CJ nodded and bit her lip. Those had been some of the most difficult times of the Bartlet administration, in some ways even worse than the MS revelation and hearings. None of them had been performing at anywhere near their best. As much as she'd always loved and respected Leo, it still pained her to remember what he'd been like then – so consumed with trying to keep the White House from losing any more political clout that lost the will to fight for anything he believed in, and stopped caring how much he demoralized his own staff. She remembered him tampering with a supposedly independent EPA review and then ripping her a new one for not being able to sell that stupid, logically incoherent line about administration views to the press, nearly forcing Josh to resign for losing a game of hardball with Senator Carrick, and wanting to accept Toby's resignation for negotiating privately with the President about how to save Social Security and leaving Leo out of the loop. Those weren't times she ever wanted to re-live.

The President continued. "Anyway, he convinced me that those days would be nothing compared to what it would be like if the only reason I was in the White House was because of a court order. My approval rating would be in the single digits. No Democrat in Congress would want anything to do with the White House. Basically, he told me the worst thing that could happen to me or the Democratic Party would be for me to win my lawsuit. I know, I know," he sighed. "That's exactly what you and Lou Thornton tried to tell me. But I guess hearing it from someone who's actually sat in that office…"

CJ smiled in understanding. "It's hard to say no to President Bartlet."

President Sellner was about to respond when Margaret stepped into the office, an urgent look on her face.

"CJ…Hello, Mr. President."

"Hello, Margaret."

"CJ, Agent Brent from the FBI is on the line for you."

CJ nodded and picked up the phone, hanging up a few minutes later.

"Margaret?" CJ called her assistant.

"Yes?" Margaret appeared again in the doorway.

"Get Nancy McNally, Kate Harper, and Ron Butterfield. And reschedule my lunch with Sam, would you?"

"Of course."

"What happened?" The President asked.

"The FBI was reviewing that videotape of the white supremacist meeting attended by Max Grimm as well as the Rosslyn shooters," she began. "In the back of the room…and he wasn't all that recognizable at first, because he had a baseball cap covering part of his face and he never looked directly at the camera…but they've identified a man in the back of the room as Tom Kelsey, the Uniformed Division officer who worked the Santos rally. It was enough to get them a search warrant. They're heading to his place now."

Things began happening very quickly. Nancy, Kate, and Ron were assembled in the Oval with CJ and the President within minutes. And then they waited, occasional conversation punctuating the tense silence as they waited for the results of the search.

About an hour later, Agent Brent arrived in person to deliver the news. The search of Officer Kelsey's home had turned up a huge scrapbook containing newspaper and magazine clippings about the Santos assassination, DVDs filled with video of the television coverage, and the metaphorical smoking gun – email and other correspondence between Kelsey and Max Grimm, planning the shooting and offering tips and advice on how to pull it off. All of the material had been hidden under some floorboards in Kelsey's home. Clearly, he had wanted to keep the items as mementos, and had hoped that they would be missed in any search. He had been at home when the agents had arrived, and had already been taken into custody.

"How could someone who's apparently fairly intelligent be so…dumb?" CJ marveled.

"In this line of work, you find that the 'criminal mastermind' is something of a myth," Agent Brent responded. "Most criminals leave clues. A lot of them can't resist saving incriminating evidence so they can re-live their deeds. I'm just glad this guy was no exception."

"Anything to tie him to Vinick's assassination?" Kate Harper asked.

"Not yet. All the material we found was in reference to Santos; there was nothing about Vinick. But we'll see what we can get out of him in questioning." She smiled. "I think we may have gotten our guy."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: This chapter contains some racially/ethnically offensive language and dialogue. Reader discretion advised.**

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Josh stared blankly at the familiar faces of the CNN news anchors, who today were positively giddy over Ray Sullivan's surprise announcement of Ainsley Hayes as his unofficial running mate. This was the kind of thing cable news loved. The network was busily bringing viewers every tidbit of biographical information it could find about Ainsley, and putting any pundit with an opinion on the air to tell the world what this meant for the Sullivan campaign and the presidential race.

He should turn off the television, Josh thought. He'd always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with cable news. It drove him crazy. It frequently raised his blood pressure to what had to be unhealthy levels, and often made him want to throw something at the television, but he could never quite bring himself to turn it off for very long. Maybe it was the result of working at the White House for seven years and having cable news on 24/7 in virtually every room of the West Wing, but not having the news on made him nervous.

As he thought about his television viewing, he realized how much time he'd been spending at home lately. He didn't think he'd ever in his adult life had this much free time, and truthfully he didn't think he liked it. After returning to DC, Sam had decided Josh was working too hard, and had forced him to take a vacation. His friend had seemed convinced it was necessary for Josh's mental health, but maybe he just wasn't the type of person who did well with too much time on his hands. Whenever he wasn't frantically busy, he found himself thinking about things he'd rather not think about.

Maybe he should see about getting a job, he thought. But doing what? One thing he was sure of was that he couldn't handle working on a campaign at this point. Just the thought of it made him slightly nauseous. The constant, daily stress and pressure of a presidential campaign were almost unbearable even under the best of circumstances. He couldn't imagine putting himself through that now, when every aspect of it would be a brutal reminder of the Santos campaign and the tragedy that had followed.

He knew he could always find a position on the staff of some Democratic senator or congressperson, but he couldn't work up any enthusiasm over that idea. A month ago, he'd been ready to step into the role of White House Chief of Staff. He supposed almost any political job would probably feel like a letdown compared to that. Though not necessarily, he mused. He'd always cared less about the relative prestige of a particular position than whether he was working for someone he could believe in. If there was someone he could feel passionate about, someone like Jed Bartlet or Matt Santos, he'd never consider that kind of work beneath him. But he couldn't think of anyone like that. There were plenty of people in the party who he respected and held a high opinion of, but no one who stirred any real excitement in him. And he wouldn't take a job on someone's staff just for the sake of having a job; that wouldn't be fair to the person he was working for. But politics was all he'd ever done since law school. If he didn't have that, what was there for him?

His attention turned back to the television. Ray Sullivan was standing at a podium, preparing to give what appeared to be an impromptu press conference. Josh felt himself tensing slightly. He'd had a strong, visceral dislike of Governor Sullivan ever since last year's Republican National Convention. Whatever the governor was about to say, Josh was pretty sure he wouldn't like it.

_"Earlier today, I announced my selection of Ainsley Hayes as my choice for the next Vice President of the United States," _Ray began._"Unfortunately, within minutes of the announcement of this historic choice, the Baker campaign launched a vicious, sexist line of attack against Ms. Hayes. Eric Baker's campaign manager Sam Seaborn belittled and demeaned the qualifications of this brilliant, talented Harvard Law graduate, which is the type of dismissal that should sound very familiar to any woman who's ever bumped up against a glass ceiling in her workplace."_

"Oh, go to hell," Josh muttered angrily, getting up from the sofa and beginning to pace around the living room. He'd seen Sam's statement. There had been nothing sexist about it. There was nothing wrong with questioning the qualifications of any candidate, male or female. He couldn't believe the governor was going there. No; actually, he could believe it. The bastard.

The governor continued: _"I call on Eric Baker to immediately fire Sam Seaborn, publicly apologize to Ainsley Hayes, and pledge that he will never again allow his campaign to engage in such disgusting tactics."_

Josh seethed. So this was going to be Sullivan's strategy. Cry sexism whenever Ainsley was criticized, and hope he could cow the Baker campaign into walking on eggshells around her. And yes, Josh knew plenty of women who would probably take offense at the phrase 'cry sexism', but in this case that was exactly what Sullivan was doing. He couldn't help but wonder if Ainsley had been told in advance about this. From what Sam had told Josh about his conversations with her, Ainsley found bogus accusations of sexism more offensive than most people.

He was startled out of his train of thought when suddenly the footage of Ray Sullivan disappeared from the screen and the network cut back to the anchor, a large red "Breaking News" banner suddenly appearing at the bottom of the screen. A familiar sick feeling began to form in the pit of Josh's stomach. They wouldn't be interrupting a live press conference unless something serious had happened.

_"We are interrupting Governor Sullivan's press conference to bring you a major development regarding the shooting of…"_

The rest of the words faded into the background as a loud ringing noise began to form in Josh's ears and his heart started pounding. He hadn't really heard anything other than the word "shooting". The television went into a split-screen, with the anchor talking on one half while images of a panicked crowd appeared on the other. It looked like some sort of campaign event. People were screaming, hiding under chairs.

There had been another shooting. Another shooting at a rally. Josh felt his whole body shaking, and breathing was becoming more difficult. Had Governor Baker had a rally today? Josh wasn't sure. He must have, though.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Donna's number, still in a panicked daze. It rang twice, then three times, then four. Why wasn't she answering? He pressed a hand against his mouth, trying to choke back a sob. He was certain she was lying crumpled on the ground somewhere with a gunshot wound, her cell phone ringing in her purse. This was his fault. He'd known it wasn't safe for her to work on the Baker campaign, or any campaign. He should have talked her out of it. Or joined the campaign himself so he could protect her. Or…

"Hey, Josh." He let out a long breath when he heard her voice.

"Donna, thank God, are you okay?" His words came out in a rush.

"What?"

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? What about Sam?"

"What do you mean? Why…why would we be hurt?"

"The shooting…"

"What shooting?" Suddenly there was a note of alarm in her voice. "Did something happen?"

He didn't answer right away, his heart rate slowly beginning to return to normal. He forced himself to focus on the television and listen to what was being said. There hadn't been another shooting, he realized. The video they were showing of the rally wasn't live; it was footage they'd had from the Santos rally after the shooting. There had been a break in the case. A Secret Service Uniformed Division officer had been arrested on suspicion of being a conspirator in Matt's assassination. That was the breaking news.

"Josh?"

He felt his face begin to flush with embarrassment. "I…no. It's nothing. Nothing happened. I just…I heard something wrong."

"Heard what wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Are you okay?" She sounded worried now.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine. I just…I'm fine."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No." His answer came out more abruptly than he'd intended. "I mean, I know you have a lot of work to do."

"Don't worry about that. I'll come over right now, okay?"

"No." His voice once again sounded harsh, he realized, but he didn't care. "I'm fine. I don't…I'm fine. You don't need to come over."

"Josh…"

"Really, Donna."

She was quiet for a long moment. "I'll come over tonight, then, okay?"

"If you want to."

"Of course I want to."

Josh stared at his phone for a long time after they'd hung up. Was he really becoming this unglued? He knew that he was. He got breaking news alerts on his BlackBerry, and whenever one appeared, he never failed to get that sick, anxious feeling in his stomach, terrified that something awful had happened, maybe to someone he cared about. And it was ten times worse whenever he didn't know for sure where Donna was.

He didn't want to think that it was the PTSD coming back. He knew it had never really been gone, of course, but the symptoms had been kept pretty thoroughly in check for quite a few years. But now, as he considered all the potential signs he'd been experiencing: difficulty sleeping, an inability to concentrate on anything, the nightmares, getting drunk and yelling at Donna, and now this…it all added up. In his defense, he reasoned, given everything that had happened recently, it wasn't entirely irrational to fear that the people behind the assassinations weren't done yet, that they might target Eric Baker next, and that his campaign staff might find themselves in the line of fire. But what had happened just now – going into a panic, not absorbing what was actually being reported, and calling Donna and making a fool of himself – that couldn't be normal.

He knew what he needed to do. He should have done it right after Matt's death, but he'd been too stubborn. But he couldn't put it off any longer. He had to do it now, before things got even worse. He picked up the phone and dialed Stanley Keyworth's number.

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"So let's start from the beginning," an FBI interrogator addressed Tom Kelsey as they sat across a table from one another in a plain, sparse room. Kelsey had waived his right to counsel; confronted with the evidence against him, he had dropped any pretense of innocence. "You were employed by the United States Secret Service for the past fifteen years, until resigning a few weeks ago?"

"Yep." Tom folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"And when did you become involved with West Virginia White Pride?"

"Around the time Bartlet was elected. Having a liberal commie socialist in the White House is enough to make a guy wanna take action and defend his country, you know? And then when it hit the news that he was letting his daughter screw around with that..." Tom's voice trailed off as a look of disgust crossed his face.

"Did you have any involvement with the Rosslyn shooting?"

He laughed shortly. "Are you kidding? Those kids were a bunch of idiots. I mean, their hearts were in the right place, but they had no earthly idea what they were doing. If I'd been helping them, they'd have used the right guns, and they'd have been better shots. They'd have hit their target, and taken out the President while they were at it. I mean, not just a flesh wound, but really taken him out, you know?"

"Like President-Elect Santos."

"You bet."

The interrogator looked at the files he had. "On December 5 of last year, you wrote the following in an email to Max Grimm, using an anonymous email account: _"He wants something done about that piece of Mexican trash that thinks he's gonna move into the White House. I'm in, but I'll need a trigger man. You up for it?_'"

Tom nodded. "Yeah. I wrote that."

"And by 'wanting something done', you meant-"

"Killing him."

"Okay," the interrogator let out a breath. "Tell me how the two of you planned it."

"Well, Max was already pretty good with guns, but not necessarily good enough to pull off what we wanted to do. We knew he'd have a couple seconds, tops, before the agents took him out or someone in the crowd stopped him. I helped him with target practice. I taught him to draw his gun, shoot, and hit his target, all within seconds. I also taught him to hide behind other people in the crowd while he was doing it, to keep the agents from being able to get a clear shot at him. He knew there was a chance of him getting killed, of course, but his preference was to survive, and he did. Everything went exactly as planned. It was awesome." A smile formed on Tom's face.

"So when he arrived at the rally, he just made sure you would be the person to screen him?"

"That's right."

"Who's 'he'?"

"What?"

"You said 'he' wanted you to plan an assassination. Who's 'he'?"

"A guy."

"Care to be more specific?"

"Not really."

"What's his name?"

"Like I'm going to tell you that."

The interrogator sighed. "Look, we're going through your computer, your home phone, your cell phone, everything. Any phone conversation with him, any email conversation, we'll be able to use that to track him down. It's going to be in your best interest to tell us who he is now, voluntarily."

"In my best interest?" He laughed. "How do you figure?"

The interrogator leaned forward. "You do realize that as of now, you're potentially facing the death penalty for what you've done, right?"

"Yep. And what are you saying? That you guys would take the death penalty off the table if I tell you what I know?" He shook his head. "No. For assassinating the President-Elect of the United States? No way you'd do that. And even if you did, I wouldn't care. I'm happy to die a martyr."

"You have a wife and two children. You're willing to leave them to fend for themselves just to protect your buddy?"

"I'm protecting our movement. And my kids will know their father died a hero."

"A hero. For committing murder?"

"Soldiers who go to war have to kill people. For that matter, police officers, people in your line of work, sometimes have to kill also. Are they not heroes?"

That argument seemed to offend the interrogator. "You would presume to compare yourself to-"

"I was defending my country, just like they do. We were being invaded, taken over by some dirty Mexican wetback who jumped the border and, with the help of his Jew campaign manager, duped a bunch of idiot voters into electing him President."

"Not to confuse you with facts, but last time I checked, Texas was part of the United States."

"Yeah. And if you believe that's where he was really born, I have a bridge in Brooklyn I wanna sell you. Come on. Anyone paying attention could see where his allegiance was, and it sure as hell wasn't to the good ol' US of A. He wanted to hand out driver's licenses to illegal aliens. He called good, patriotic Americans defending their own border because their government wouldn't, 'vigilantes'. If he'd made it to the Oval Office, our sovereignty would have been gone in a year. We'd have become an extension of Mexico."

"Arnold Vinick called the Minutemen vigilantes, too."

Tom snorted. "Yeah. Heck of a choice we had last November."

"Is that why you killed Vinick?"

He shook his head. "That wasn't me."

"But you know who it was."

"Nope."

"Was it someone associated with West Virginia White Pride?"

"Not that I know of."

The interrogator didn't look convinced. "As we just discussed, you're facing the death penalty. There's nothing the government can do to you beyond that. You might as well just tell us what happened."

"Hey, if I'd done it, I'd tell you. I'd love to be able to brag about it. Vinick was a piece of shit. I'm glad someone took him out. But it wasn't me, and I don't know who it was."

The interrogation continued for several more hours without any further success. After the interview, the interrogator walked up to Jill Brent, who had been listening from outside the room.

"What do you think?" he asked. "Think he's telling the truth about Vinick?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "If he was involved, we know there was someone else, too. Kelsey had an alibi; he wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. He could be lying to try to protect his accomplice."

He nodded "How'd the questioning of Max Grimm go?"

"In light of all this, he's dropped his Paris Hilton story – not that it hadn't been pretty thoroughly debunked already, but I suppose it's still nice to have him finally give it up. He's acknowledged collaborating with Kelsey on the assassination."

"And the mysterious third person?"

"Grimm wouldn't tell us any more than Kelsey did."

The interrogator sighed and shook his head, gazing at the room where he'd questioned Kelsey just minutes ago. "I can't believe that guy has children. Hard to think of someone like that as a family man."

"I just hate to think of what he's teaching those kids."

"That's for sure," the interrogator nodded in agreement.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** I got some inspiration for this chapter from Rick's story **"Mea Culpa"**, which can be found on the _National Library_ website.

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"CJ's ready for you," Margaret informed Sam and Donna. The lunch meeting Sam and CJ had originally scheduled had gone by the wayside given the events of the past day or so, and they'd instead settled for a meeting in her office – a short meeting, as Margaret had made clear, since CJ was going to be very busy helping the President prep for a prime-time news conference that evening. Sam had asked Donna to come along in the hopes that CJ might have more difficulty saying no to both of them.

"Thanks," Sam nodded as Margaret escorted them into CJ's office.

"Hey, you two," CJ smiled warmly, getting up and giving hugs to each of them.

"Good to see you again," Donna told her.

"You too. You look great," CJ smiled. "Deputy campaign manager. Didn't I tell you you'd shoot up like a star once you escaped the iron fist of Josh Lyman?"

Donna beamed at the praise. She wasn't sure exactly why, but CJ's approval meant the world to her. She noticed out of the corner of her eye, though, that Sam wasn't smiling.

CJ must have noticed too, because her tone softened. "How's Josh doing?"

"He's been better," Donna told her quietly. She was still concerned about the phone call she'd gotten from Josh the previous day. When she'd come over to his place that night, he'd tried to brush it off. He'd kept saying he'd just misheard the news story about Kelsey's arrest, and that it was no big deal, but it still seemed strange to her. She'd definitely gotten the feeling that he wasn't telling her everything.

"Well, we're all thinking of him," CJ responded. "Anyway, quite a news cycle you guys are dealing with."

"No kidding," Sam shook his head. Ray Sullivan's press conference had been the number two news story of the past twenty-four hours, eclipsed only by the new arrest in the Santos case. As if it wasn't bad enough that all the cable networks seemed to thoroughly enjoy assembling panels of pundits to debate whether or not Sam was a sexist pig, they had also found delicious irony in playing the _Capital Beat_ clip over and over again, noting that the woman whose intelligence he had supposedly insulted had kicked his ass on television. The fact that he _hadn't_ insulted her intelligence, but only questioned whether she was qualified to be Vice President, seemed not to matter.

"I could have told you that was coming," CJ chided him. "You have to be more careful than that, Sam."

"More careful than what?" Sam's voice rose slightly. "Come on, CJ. Qualifications matter. It's absolute…it's absolute absurdity to suggest that because a candidate is a woman, we should treat her with kid gloves that we would never use against a male candidate. Isn't the whole objective of the feminist movement to ensure that men and women are treated equally? How can you defend-"

"Woah, slow down there, Spanky," CJ held up her hand. "All I said was you have to be careful. You know how these things can be spun."

"Right," Sam looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"This thing's been getting to you, hasn't it?" CJ observed.

"Yeah," he admitted, looking away slightly. "See, the thing is, I don't think there was anything wrong with what I said. I'd have said the same thing about a male candidate with Ainsley's resume, I'm sure of it. But who knows, maybe I have a blind spot. I mean, if a woman who opposes the ERA thinks you said something sexist, I guess you have to figure that maybe, just maybe-"

"Ainsley didn't call you sexist," CJ pointed out. "Ray Sullivan did."

"You think he'd have put out that statement without her approval?"

"If he thought it'd help the campaign, sure. Why ask for her permission and give her the chance to say no?"

"Maybe you're right." There was a note of hope in Sam's voice. It had been driving him crazy to think that Ainsley had agreed with or supported Ray's statement. "And I love that you still call me Spanky," he added.

CJ smiled. "Some things never change."

"Anyway," Sam took a deep breath and decided to pivot to the subject of the meeting. "We just got our first round of internal polling. Sullivan's at 45, we're at 38. And those numbers are from before the Ainsley announcement, which we assume he'll get a bump from."

"National security's overwhelmingly being cited the top issue," Donna added.

"Well…" CJ thought for a moment. "The good news is that still leaves plenty of undecideds to go after. Sullivan's still well under 50%; that's actually a pretty good sign, as far as I'm concerned. Remember, people are a lot more familiar with him than they are with Baker. He was in the news practically every day as the Republican vice presidential nominee. Once you start getting Baker out there more and people get to know him…"

"We need to name a vice presidential candidate, quickly," Sam continued. "Someone experienced, someone who's going to be reassuring to the American people."

"You need help coming up with some names?"

"No. We know who we want."

"Who?" CJ asked innocently, her expression changing a second later. "Oh, no."

"You'd be perfect," Donna insisted.

"We know it might be complicated, with the President suing to stop the special election, but-" Sam began.

"He's dropping the lawsuit," CJ informed them. "That's what he's going to be announcing at the press conference this evening."

Sam and Donna exchanged relieved glances. "Thank God he finally came to his senses," Donna commented.

"So no conflict of interest after all," Sam added with a smile. "There's no reason for you not to do this."

"I can think of about a million reasons."

"Name one," Donna challenged.

"Well, for one thing, President Sellner is working on achieving the lowest approval ratings in presidential history. You really want his Chief of Staff associated with the Baker campaign?"

"Everyone knows you only stayed on in order to stand in the gap in a national emergency," Sam told her. "No one's going to hold you responsible for his screw-ups."

"You're much more strongly associated with Jed Bartlet and the 65% approval rating he left office with," Donna added, smiling.

"Yes, and my tenure as President Bartlet's Chief of Staff was primarily marked by the shuttle leak scandal – an investigation in which everyone knows I was a prime suspect, by the way."

"You were exonerated," Sam argued.

"I wasn't charged. That's not the same thing as being exonerated. You're a lawyer, Sam, you know that. Don't you remember the headaches that Leo being on the ticket caused the Santos campaign because of that whole situation? And he wasn't even officially working at the White House when the leak happened."

"The investigation is over. It's done," Sam insisted.

"What about Toby's pardon? That little tidbit kind of got drowned out of the news cycle at the time, for obvious reasons, but believe me – you put me on the ticket, and it'll be right back on the front burner. You know what the questions will sound like. 'CJ, did you advise President Bartlet to pardon Toby Zeigler? Did you try to talk him out of it?'"

"CJ-" Donna began.

"Was the pardon a reward for him protecting someone else in the administration? Were _you_ the person he was protecting?"

"We're willing to deal with that," Sam told her confidently.

CJ sighed and put her head in her hands. "I was done with all this. I was going to move back to California with Danny, and work on building infrastructure in Africa. You know, something that might actually make people's lives better, instead of being constantly drowned in politics and bureaucracy."

"Being Vice President wouldn't be like being Press Secretary, or even Chief of Staff," Sam pointed out. "You wouldn't be working for anyone else. You'd be able to set your own agenda. Be an independent voice in the administration."

"Just like Russell, and like Hoynes? What were they ever able to accomplish, other than periodically being a thorn in President Bartlet's side?"

"Hoynes got put on the ticket because Bartlet needed him to win the presidency," Donna reminded her. "They didn't even like each other, at least not at first. And Russell, he was hand-picked by Jeff Haffley. It won't be like that with you. Governor Baker wants you. He respects you. He'll listen to your opinions." As she spoke, Donna couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort at the mention of her former boss. She tried not to think too hard about how she'd tried to make that hand-picked-by-Haffley guy the next President.

"We can guarantee you, you'll play a major role in shaping administration policy," Sam added.

"This is absurd. Honestly, you guys, I really don't think this is what I-"

"At least consider it," Sam cut her off. "You have to give us that much."

"Fine. I'll think about it and tell you no tomorrow."

"CJ-"

"I'll think about it," she finally conceded. "But I'm warning you right now not to count on anything."

"Of course not."

The meeting ended, and Sam and Donna got up to leave. As they did, CJ put a hand on Donna's shoulder. "I really am proud of you," she told her quietly.

Donna smiled broadly. "Thank you."

She and Sam left the office and walked through the hallway toward the building's exit.

"Donna!" She turned at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hey, Cliff!" She walked over to greet him, and then glanced quickly at Sam.

"I'll meet you in the lobby," Sam told her.

"I'll just be a minute," she called after him before turning back to Cliff.

"So how have you been?" Cliff asked.

"Wonderful," she smiled. "I mean, you know, not wonderful…given everything that's happened, but considering the circumstances…"

"Of course." She followed him as he headed into the policy bullpen, toward his office. As they walked, she couldn't help but glance at the desk where she used to work.

Cliff followed her gaze. "Your old desk. You want to sit at it for awhile, just for old time's sake?"

She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, no nostalgia there."

"Really?"

"You're surprised?"

"Well, kind of. Working in the West Wing…I always figured that was something that most people would consider the experience of a lifetime. But I guess people tend to get jaded awfully quickly in this town."

"Working in a cramped little cubicle, answering phones and tracking down your boss's luggage? I don't think you have to be jaded not to miss that kind of demeaning grunt work."

"I guess not."

She frowned slightly, not satisfied by his response. "Remember when we talked in the Vice President's office, and you said I looked changed, in a good way? That was because I'd finally escaped Josh Lyman's iron fist." She found herself borrowing CJ's phrase.

"Wow. How things change." Cliff shook his head slightly as he leaned against one of the walls of the bullpen.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I guess I'm just wondering what spectacularly crappy thing Josh must have done to be stripped of his 'boss of the century' medal."

She snorted. "Boss of the century? Josh?" She felt a little uncomfortable taking digs at Josh in front of Cliff, but she supposed it was harmless enough. He'd just called her jaded, after all. She was entitled to defend herself.

"Uh, yeah." Cliff looked dead serious.

"What are you talking about? And for that matter, what are you doing on Josh's side in this little discussion, anyway? I didn't think you even liked him."

"I don't, particularly. But you do realize it's only because of him that the phrase 'diarygate' never entered the national lexicon, don't you?"

She glared at him. "Leave it to you to throw that back in my face."

"I'm not throwing anything in your face, it's just a fact. You know what I was doing when Josh called and asked me to meet you guys in the park? Preparing an affidavit attesting to the fact that I'd seen a diary in your apartment."

"While you were hunting around for your boxer shorts, you mean?"

"Well, I didn't get that graphic, but yeah. It's not like there was anything wrong with it. I'm a single guy. You're a single woman. I disclosed before your testimony that we'd had a social relationship."

She stared at him, hurt and betrayal evident on her face. "So you were going to publicly humiliate me – have me arrested as a perjurer, because I didn't want my most private thoughts and feelings to be cable news fodder."

"I didn't want to do that to you, I really didn't. For that matter, I didn't want to do it to myself. I wasn't exactly looking forward to the entire country suddenly knowing the intimate details of my sex life. But I thought the only reason you'd have lied about the diary was if there was something material to the investigation in it, something worth committing perjury to hide. I wouldn't have been doing my job if I didn't pursue it." He sighed. "Anyway, what Josh did…I couldn't believe it. Frankly, Donna, when you told him you'd lied under oath, his only responsible course of action would have been to fire you on the spot and then go straight to the Counsel's office and notify Babish of the situation. Not only did he not do that, he put himself on the line in a huge way to protect you. You do realize that, right? All I would have had to do when he handed me the diary was record the conversation, leave with the diary, and hand it over to the committee, and Josh would have been finished in politics. The President and Leo would have had no choice but to fire him. He might even have faced criminal charges. To say nothing of what it would have done to the administration. You'd have been in trouble too, of course, but Josh would have been by far the bigger fish, so he'd have gotten the brunt of it."

Donna began to feel slightly sick. "The way you say that, it makes me think you thought of doing that to him."

"No," Cliff shook his head. "That's not how I operate. But plenty of people in this city do operate that way, which Josh knew very well, and he barely knew me from Adam. All he knew was that I was a Republican investigating the President. What he did was absolutely, insanely reckless. And I knew he had to be pretty head over heels in love with you in order to have done it. I think that was when I knew things would never work out between you and me. There was no way I could compete with a guy who was that devoted to you."

Donna was quiet for a long moment, absorbing what Cliff had just said. Finally she spoke. "You're a good guy, Cliff. You could have used the diary thing to hurt Josh, and hurt me, too. I know you also helped Leo out of a jam. I don't know exactly what you did, but I know it was big. You could have buried the Bartlet administration, and you didn't. I thank you for that. But there is something I've been wondering about for awhile."

"What?"

"That night in my apartment. How'd you know it was a diary?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, it's not like it had the words 'Donna's Diary' emblazoned on the front. It was a…a notebook, a journal. How did you know what if anything was written in it? Maybe it was poetry. How did you know I wasn't writing poetry in my spare time?"

Cliff stared at the ground, embarrassed. "I'm a good guy, not a saint," he finally muttered.

"So you did read it!" Her voice rose in indignation.

"I peeked. I'm sorry, Donna. I wanted to get some inside information on what you really thought of me, and you were in the bathroom, and well, I couldn't resist. I glanced it for a few seconds, that's all." He sighed. "Anyway, it was wrong. I'm sorry."

She looked away. "I guess we'll call it even."

"Okay," he sighed. "Anyway, I have to be at a meeting in a few minutes."

"Yeah."

He began to leave, but then turned back to her. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry if I upset you with all this."

"No."

"I mean, I know Josh can be obnoxious. Hell, everyone in DC knows that. If you're mad at him, I'm sure it's for good reason."

"No. I mean, I'm not…" she paused. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," he shrugged and walked out of the bullpen.

Donna sank into the empty chair at her old desk, feeling almost physically ill about her conversation with Cliff. She'd known she'd been lucky to still have a job after the diary incident, of course. She'd realized that she owed Josh big-time for helping her out the way he had. But it had never even occurred to her how much of a risk he'd taken in doing so. She didn't know why it hadn't. She wasn't a lawyer, but one didn't need a law degree to imagine the kind of chaos that would have been unleashed on Josh and the administration if his little under-the-table scheme had come to light. Maybe because Josh had never mentioned how dangerous the maneuver was, she'd allowed herself to believe it was no big deal. Besides, at the time, she'd been too consumed by her humiliation over the incident, and her hurt feelings over the way Josh had yelled at her, to think about much else.

How could she not have grasped the reality of what Josh was doing? How could she even have let him do it – let him risk his career to protect her from the consequences of her own screw-up? Cliff had been right, Josh should have fired her, except he shouldn't have had to. She should have walked into his office that day with her letter of resignation in hand, and not taken no for an answer. She should have publicly come clean about her perjured testimony and let the chips fall where they may. She should never have risked letting Josh or the Bartlet administration take the fall for her mistake.

And she knew that wasn't the only time Josh had protected her career, either. He should have fired her when she'd told everyone she'd given the _Post_ that awful quote about the administration and the military. For that matter, he probably should have fired her for having lied about the quote, or at least she should have faced some disciplinary action other than having to address him as "wild thing" all that evening.

Donna gazed sadly at her former workspace. She _had _once regarded it as the experience of a lifetime to work at this desk. So what if it wasn't a fancy office? She knew that practically every one of the federal employees who worked across the street, many of them very high-ranking officials, would trade their posh OEOB offices in a second for a broom closet in the West Wing.

But somehow all that had changed. She began to realize just how obnoxious she'd been, making such a point of looking down her nose at that job for the past year and a half or so. And she'd definitely on occasion embellished the "grunt-level servitude" nature of the work, too. She'd tell anyone who would listen about all the tedious hours answering Josh's phones, and making sure Josh's hamburgers were burnt to his liking, and doing Josh's holiday shopping for him – but she'd deliberately neglect to mention that she'd also helped vet candidates for presidential pardons, sat in on budget meetings, and that she'd been given the task, along with Toby, of choosing the next White House Press Secretary after CJ's promotion.

For that matter, she realized, she'd started pushing Josh for advancement at a particularly low point in his own career. He'd still been reeling from the Carrick incident, desperately trying to regain Leo's confidence. Then had come Gaza, and Leo's heart attack, and then he'd been passed over for Chief of Staff in favor of someone several rungs below him on the White House ladder. Could she really blame him for not especially wanting to send her away to go work somewhere else right then?

In order to vindicate her anger at Josh, Donna had reminded herself over and over again about how President Bartlet had ordered Charlie to look for a better job once he graduated college – in sharp contrast to Josh, who had given her no such push. But now she found herself also remembering how Charlie had responded to that order, handing out his resume to everyone on the senior staff but asking them to ignore it because he knew the President was going through a difficult time in the wake of Leo's heart attack and he didn't want to leave him. His loyalty to his boss, to the man who had given him a career in the White House, had superseded his ambition for career advancement.

Tears of shame started forming in Donna's eyes. Ever since Gaza – and even before Gaza, really – she'd been focused, obsessively focused, on all the things Josh hadn't done for her. He hadn't given her a promotion. He hadn't been entirely straight with her about what her level of responsibility on the Gaza trip would be – never mind that the work she'd done on that trip had been far more meaningful and educational than the presidential hand-holding trip to Brussels ever would have been. He hadn't made time to have lunch with her when she'd wanted to discuss her career. He hadn't…he hadn't swept her off her feet and told her he loved her after Gaza.

When she thought about those things now, and how they paled in comparison to all that Josh _had_ done for her over the years, she felt ashamed of herself to the point of disgust. 'Jaded' wasn't even the word. At what point had she become so spoiled, so ungrateful, so blind, that she'd convinced herself it was okay to kick Josh around the way she had after she'd quit her job? That she'd actually allowed herself to believe Josh had been responsible for keeping her down, when the only reason she had this career she loved so much was because of him?

The conflicted emotions she'd had recently, vacillating between guilt and anger regarding her relationship with Josh, were suddenly gone. Now, all she could feel was overwhelming remorse. She'd needed to leave her position at the White House, she knew that. She'd learned a lot, and had gained confidence and professionalism as a result of that decision. She wasn't sorry she'd left, even if she probably should have been more selective about exactly which candidate she was going to try to put in charge of the nuclear launch codes. But there was a right way and a wrong way to do things, and the way she'd quit had been inexcusable and unprofessional – nearly unforgivable, really. And the way she'd treated Josh afterward had been even worse. She supposed she'd richly deserved to be turned down for a position on the Santos campaign. It was probably nothing short of a miracle that Josh even still wanted a relationship with her.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number. She desperately needed to talk to him. The phone rang several times before going to voicemail. She sighed and hung up. She supposed the conversation they needed to have would be better in person, anyway. She took a deep breath, suddenly remembering that Sam was waiting for her in the lobby. She wiped her eyes, taking a moment to regain her composure before getting up and heading out of the bullpen to meet him.


	20. Chapter 20

"Josh. Come on in."

Josh walked slowly into Stanley Thompson's office. He'd had a long phone conversation with Dr. Keyworth the previous afternoon, and had ended up agreeing to make an appointment with Dr. Thompson – the "other Stanley", as Josh had taken to thinking of him – a psychiatrist he'd visited off and on for a number of years. As much as he would have liked an in-person appointment with Stanley Keyworth, he couldn't justify the cost – not only the steep hourly fee, but the cost of flying him into town and putting him up in a hotel. Dr. Thompson knew him well, though, and Josh trusted him.

"It's been awhile," Stanley observed. "I remember giving you a bad time when you went without an appointment for ten months, but now it's been…what? A couple years?"

"I know, I know."

"So how have you been?"

"You've seen the news the past month. How do you think I've been?" Josh noted from Stanley's expression that he was less than impressed with the flip answer. "I'm…you know, okay, considering. I have a girlfriend now." He wasn't sure why exactly he'd added that list tidbit.

"You and…what's her name, Amy, back together?"

"No. Donna. I've told you about her, right?"

"Your assistant?"

"Yeah. Well, she's not my assistant anymore. Don't worry, no ethical violations."

"How are things going?"

"Fine."

"Just 'fine'?"

"I guess."

"Is it pretty serious?"

"I'm in love with her." Josh was mildly surprised at how easily those words came.

"Does she feel the same way?"

He paused momentarily. "She says she does."

Stanley raised an eyebrow at the noncommittal response. "You don't believe her?"

"I guess. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Not as much as I love her, I don't think." Josh felt a stab of pain as he finally said the words out loud. He wasn't used to giving people such honest answers to questions like that, and he really thought he'd probably prefer not to talk about it. But, he reminded himself, this was therapy. He wasn't paying Stanley $150 an hour to chat about the Mets.

"Why do you say that?"

"I…I don't know. I mean, there was a time – for almost a year, really, after she quit her job, when she didn't even like me. She couldn't stand me, in fact. Every time she saw me, she'd go out of her way to…you know, make sure I knew how much she couldn't stand me."

"Why do you think that was?"

"I don't know. Why are we talking about Donna, anyway?" Josh attempted to change the subject. "I made this appointment because of what happened to Matt."

"You brought her up. I figure there must be a reason for that. So why do you think it was that Donna couldn't stand you?"

"She was mad that I didn't give her a promotion."

"And that was it?"

"I guess."

Stanley appeared slightly puzzled. "So she was angry with you. People get angry all the time with people they love."

"I know, but…" he sighed. "I guess it's the indifference that hurts even more than the anger."

"Indifference?"

He was quiet for a moment. "She told me a few months ago that she wasn't even sure whether it was worth the trouble. Our relationship, that is. She announced one morning that if we hadn't…I think her words were 'decided what we wanted from each other'…in four weeks, then that was it. She'd move on. She said it so casually, like it was no big deal. And I knew exactly what I wanted from her. I wanted her in my life, forever, but she…well, obviously she could take it or leave it – our relationship. I guess that freaked me out a little."

Stanley nodded. "And that was more than four weeks ago?"

"Yeah. It was a few weeks after the election."

"So given the fact that you're still together, I guess you two must have had a talk."

"Yeah. I mean, sort of. I guess it was good enough for her."

"Did you tell her what you just told me? How you felt when she said that to you? Or for that matter, your feelings about her anger toward you earlier?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." Stanley held his gaze, and Josh finally continued. "I guess I was afraid of her response."

Stanley nodded in understanding.

Josh ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ground. "I mean, I don't blame her for not being able to forgive me. I'd understand if she never did."

"Forgive you for…not giving her a promotion?"

"Yeah. That and…"

"And what?

"She almost died in a terrorist attack in Gaza."

"I remember hearing about that," Stanley nodded.

"She was there because of me. I sent her on that trip."

"You think she blames you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Would I blame my boss if he sent me on a business trip and something bad happened to me while I was there? No."

Josh was quiet for a moment. "Everything was different after she came home. She was so mad at me…mad all the time, it felt like."

"She'd just been through a very traumatic experience. That could have been why she seemed to be acting differently."

"It wasn't just that."

"How do you know?"

"It just…wasn't. It was my fault what happened to her. I know it, she knows it."

Stanley was quiet for a moment. "You made this appointment because you were concerned that your PTSD symptoms might be returning, because of the President-Elect's assassination."

"Yeah."

"Tell me about that."

"Well, I've been having nightmares, for one thing. I mean, not a lot of them. Not every night or anything, but…some."

"What kind of nightmares?"

"There's one I've had a few times where Matt…President-Elect Santos…after he was shot, as he's dying, he tells me it was all my fault what happened. I talked him into running, so it was my fault he got shot. And then Arnold Vinick shows up, even though he's dead, and he tells me the same thing: that Matt's death is my fault, and his death, and Joanie's, and Leo's, and my dad's, and Donna almost dying – all of which he knows about since, well, since it's a dream, I guess. And the other night-" his voice broke off.

"What?"

"The other night, it was Donna. She was sitting at her old desk at the White House, telling me in this calm, matter-of-fact voice about all the people who are dead because of me – pretty much the same thing Vinick says in the other dream. And then she gets up, and she says 'thank you for my diplomatic passport.' She holds up the passport and starts walking out of the bullpen. And I think I should go after her, and stop her, but I don't. And then she disappears down the hall, and there's this huge explosion. And then I woke up."

Stanley was quiet for a moment, absorbing what he'd told him. "Josh, I'm sure you know that it's common for people with PTSD to struggle with guilt as a result of their trauma. And I think it's likely that your condition is a contributing factor to what you're going through now. But in your case, your issues with guilt started a long time before your PTSD diagnosis, didn't they?"

"Yeah."

Stanley nodded. "Tell me more about the day Joanie died."

"What's there to tell? There was a fire, and I ran out of the house and lived, and she stayed and died."

"Just talk to me about it. Tell me everything you remember."

He took a deep breath. "I was seven years old, and she was twelve. It was the first time our parents had let her babysit me with no adult at home. I guess she must have been feeling pretty important and grown-up. She started being really bossy, or at least I thought so at the time. So I retaliated. I started being as obnoxious as I knew how to be…and even at seven years old, I was pretty good at that. Our parents had just bought this new popcorn maker, and I knew she wasn't really sure how to use it, but I started insisting that she make popcorn anyway. I pitched a pretty impressive fit, yelling and screaming and crying…I think I knew even at the time that I was too old to be throwing a tantrum like that, but I didn't care. I wanted to give her a hard time. Finally, to shut me up, she gave in. She went in the kitchen to make the popcorn, and I started playing with my Legos in the living room, until all of a sudden I heard her scream and I smelled popcorn burning. I went into the kitchen, and there were these huge flames leaping up from the popcorn maker."

"Were you scared?"

"Not at first. I mean, at first it didn't look all that bad. The flames were big, and they were starting to singe one of the cupboards, but I didn't think it was…I started laughing, actually, and telling her how much trouble she was going to be in when mom and dad got home. Yeah, I told you I was a brat."

"And what did she do?"

"I remember her yelling, 'Shut up, Josh.' She filled a big bowl up with water and dumped it on the fire, but I guess she didn't know, or had forgotten, that you're not supposed to put water on an oil fire. All of a sudden, the flames were everywhere. I started screaming, and I could hear her screaming, too. I turned and ran out of the house. I guess I assumed she would do the same, but I…I didn't even think about it. I didn't think about her, I just wanted to get away from the fire." He paused for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was choked. "They found her…her body in the kitchen next to a fire extinguisher. They think she'd probably been trying to figure out how to use it when the smoke…" his voice trailed off.

Stanley shook his head. "I can't imagine how awful that must have been."

"I ran out of the house," Josh's repeated in a quiet, shaky voice, a vacant look on his face.

"You keep saying that. Josh, if you hadn't, you would have died too."

"I should have told her I wasn't leaving unless she did, too. She wouldn't have stayed in the house if I'd done that."

"You said you assumed she would run out of the house, too. That was a perfectly reasonable assumption."

"I said I guess I assumed that. I don't remember really thinking about her at all. I was just…thinking about myself."

Stanley paused for a moment. "Do you remember when you first told me how Joanie died? You said then that you didn't remember exactly how the fire started."

"Yeah," Josh admitted, staring past Stanley at a spot on the wall. "I guess it was more that I…you know…didn't like thinking about it. I mean, I killed my sister, it's not exactly something I like announcing to people."

Stanley stared at him thoughtfully. "I feel like I'm missing a piece of the puzzle."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, no doubt, something like that…a young person dying so tragically, losing a sibling…of course you'd never completely get past it. And it's absolutely normal that you'd struggle with survivor's guilt, even now, all these years later. But what strikes me is the way you told the story, as if you thought somehow I'd agree that the fire was your fault. You just said you killed your sister, Josh, that's pretty strong language. And you strike me as a fairly rational person. You must know that a seven-year-old boy can't be expected to rescue his older sister from a burning building. You know that a kid wanting popcorn and throwing a tantrum doesn't make him responsible for a house catching on fire. What do you think it is that keeps you from being able to accept that it was a horrible tragedy, but that you weren't to blame for it?"

Josh stared straight ahead for a long moment, the corners of his mouth tightening and untightening.

"Josh?"

"My dad said it was my fault."

Stanley stared at him, stunned. "Your dad told you Joanie's death was your fault?"

"No, he…he didn't know I was listening. It was a few days after the fire, and we were staying at my grandparents' house. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn't sleep. I got up to get some water, but I ended up just sort of wandering around the house for awhile, thinking about…things. I passed the guest room my parents were staying in, and I could hear them crying, both of them. I'd never heard my dad cry before, and it scared me a little bit. All of a sudden, they were talking about me. I heard my mom say my name, but I didn't hear what she said. But then I heard my dad say, '…because he ran out of the house and left her. What does that say about what kind of man he's going to grow up to be?'"

Stanley's expression screamed: _And you're just now telling me this_? "And what did your mom say?"

"I don't know. I turned and ran back to the couch they'd set up for me to sleep on, and went under the covers."

"I take it you never told your dad what you'd overheard."

"No."

Stanley looked at Josh thoughtfully for a moment. "You've been working pretty hard to prove him wrong, haven't you?" he observed. "Prove you're not that kind of man?"

"I guess."

"Has it worked?"

Josh just shrugged. "Not really."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh walked slowly back to his car after leaving his appointment with Stanley, a prescription for antidepressants in his hand. He was still in a bit of a daze. He'd never told anyone what he'd overheard that night in his grandparents' house. He'd done his best not to think about it over the years, but it had always been there, under the surface. Before his dad had died, he'd sometimes found himself wondering whether he still thought that about him – thought that his son was the type of person who would save himself at the expense of others. Even now, he sometimes wondered whether all he'd accomplished since his dad's death – helping get President Bartlet elected and re-elected, serving as Deputy Chief of Staff, getting Matt Santos elected – would have been enough to finally make his father unequivocally proud of him.

He knew Stanley would probably like to see him accept that his dad's words had just been uttered in grief and that he hadn't meant anything by it. Just like Donna had tried to convince him that Helen Santos hadn't meant what she'd said. And maybe she hadn't. Maybe his dad hadn't, either, but that didn't mean the things they'd said hadn't been true. Too many people in his life had died, and as much as Stanley or Donna or anyone else might like for him to ignore the fact that his actions had contributed to most of those deaths, he couldn't.

He dug his phone out of his pocket to turn the sound back on, and saw there was a missed call from Donna. He ignored it and put the phone away. He'd call her back later. Right now, it hurt even to think about her. He missed her desperately, which felt strange and miserable since she was still here, ostensibly still in his life. But he missed what they'd had together on the Bartlet campaign and in the White House: when she'd been his best friend, the one person he'd felt completely comfortable with and had always known he could trust implicitly. His heart ached as he remembered their easy banter, and her gorgeous smile, and her just being there each morning when he arrived at work. He realized he even missed taking jabs at whichever gomer was her latest love interest, and watching her trying to play matchmaker for him and Joey Lucas and doing her best to hide the fact that she couldn't stand Amy Gardner. He and Donna hadn't been together as a couple then, but in many ways it felt like they'd been closer and more intimate than they were now.

Except they hadn't been, he reminded himself. Those times had been good for him, but not for her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her talk about that period of her life with anything other than disdain in her voice. She'd come to hate her old job, hate the person she'd been then, and for a long time, at least, she'd hated him, too.

He knew she hadn't always felt that way, at least not about him. At one point she'd returned his affection for her, he was sure of that. He would never forget her constant, unwavering support after Rosslyn, and then after the PTSD diagnosis. There was no way she could have faked that kind of warmth and caring. But somewhere along the line, that had all changed. He found himself wondering when exactly that had been, at what point she'd started only pretending to enjoy his company because he was her boss and it was her job.

Whatever had happened, he wasn't sure he would ever again be able to feel that kind of total comfort in Donna's presence. Ever since they'd become a couple on election day – or rather, ever since they'd started sleeping together on election day, which he knew wasn't necessarily the same thing – he'd felt like he was on some sort of indefinite probation with her, and that if he said or did the wrong thing, or wasn't the person she wanted him to be, she'd walk away again and not look back. And that was a problem, since he had an uncanny knack for saying and doing the wrong things.

Up until the shooting, that situation had been difficult but bearable. For all his confusion about his relationship with Donna, being with her was far preferable to not being with her. But now, in the wake of the assassination, he felt like he was falling apart, and he didn't know how to cope. The possibility of something like this happening had crossed his mind at times during the campaign, of course. After Rosslyn, how could it not have? But he hadn't been prepared for the reality, not even close. It was a nightmare that he didn't know how to deal with. Matt had been his hand-chosen candidate for President. He'd run because Josh had asked him to. Josh had felt a sense of responsibility to him that was different in a way even from what he'd felt toward President Bartlet. He'd felt protective of Matt, as strange as that probably sounded, but he hadn't been able to protect him from this.

He longed to be able to lean on Donna, and let her help him pick up the pieces the way she had after Rosslyn, but he couldn't. If he did, it wouldn't take long for her to start resenting him for once again making her tend to his needs instead of her own. It would make her feel like the "old Donna", the woman he'd adored but that she clearly never wanted to resemble again. The end result would be that she would leave, and on top of everything else he'd have to face losing her right when he'd allowed himself to trust her and depend on her again. So here he was, going through one of the most difficult times of his life with Donna there but not there, offering her support even though he didn't dare trust that she really meant it. It was just about the loneliest feeling he could imagine.

He closed his eyes, fighting tears. That drunken night in the hotel room, he had a vague recollection of accusing her of only staying with him out of pity. If that was the case, if that was why she was staying, then the pity would wear off soon enough. Furthermore, he didn't want her staying with him out of pity. He wanted her to be happy, and if she wasn't happy with him, then he'd have to find a way to want her to be happy without him.

He let out a long breath, trying to push those thoughts out of his mind before they drove him crazy, and then started his car and pulled out of the parking space.


	21. Chapter 21

"What the hell was that?" Ainsley demanded, striding angrily into the living room of Ray Sullivan's hotel suite. The campaign was still in Ohio, preparing for a second event that afternoon. She was furious over the governor's press conference the previous day. Either he'd guessed that she would react that way, or her staff had warned him that she was upset, because he'd been doing his best to avoid her. This was the first time since it had happened that she'd been allowed to speak with him.

"Good morning, Ainsley."

"Good morning, governor. I'll repeat my question. What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"You know very well what." Her eyes flashed with anger. "Let's get one thing straight right now. I consider questions about my qualifications to be legitimate and fair. As a woman and as a Republican, I am offended by the insinuation that it's not, that our political opponents should treat me differently and pull their punches, presumably because I'm a weak woman who will wilt at any criticism."

"Ainsley-"

"You're the sexist if that's your attitude! We're Republicans. I thought we were supposed to be against affirmative action. And what is affirmative action, if not giving certain groups of people special treatment based on their identity?"

"Ainsley-"

"And furthermore…" her voice trailed off momentarily as she collected her thoughts. "Furthermore, how could you put out a statement like that on my behalf, without asking me or even _telling_ me about it in advance?"

He looked at her calmly. "Are you done?"

She frowned. "Yes."

"Ainsley, this is politics, nothing else. Of course we want to protect you from criticism if we can, just like we'd want to protect any VP candidate we chose. So yeah, we're going to use any tool at our disposal, including gender if need be, to accomplish that."

"It's demeaning, Governor. It sends a message that women are frail, that we can't withstand the same type of scrutiny that men in politics have to undergo. It's sleazy, dirty campaigning at its worst."

"So you'd rather we run a squeaky-clean campaign that ends up putting Eric Baker in the White House?"

"I don't accept that those are our only two options."

Ray sighed. "Look, this is just how things are done. It's like during the campaign last year. We couldn't say a word against Matt Santos without being accused of discriminating against Mexicans. Hispanics. Latinos. Whatever the politically correct term is these days," he amended as he caught a strange glance from Ainsley.

"Santos never went there and you know it."

No, he didn't have to. His buddies in the liberal media were happy to do it for him." He paused. "Besides, yes he did. During the debate, he accused Arnie of bringing up immigration issues because he was running against a Latino."

"Well, he was only stating the obvious in that instance." Ainsley paused. "And believe me, governor, if and when honest-to-God sexism rears its ugly head in this campaign, I will be the first person to call it out. But by recklessly throwing around bogus accusations of sexism, you are only making it that much harder for women who _have_ been discriminated against to be taken seriously."

"Okay, okay," he sighed. "It won't happen again."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Bob Mayer walked into the suite.

"Good news!" He handed some papers to Ray. "Overnight polling on Ainsley: 76% of registered voters have a positive opinion of her. 65% say she shares their values. 58% say she's qualified to be Vice President, as opposed to only 21% who say she's not. Best of all," he grinned, "When informed of Sam Seaborn's remarks about Ainsley, 69% said they thought he was unduly harsh, and 23% said they considered it sexist."

"That 23% sounds suspiciously like approximately the same percentage of the population that represents the die-hard Republican base, making their opinions probably less than objective, "Ainsley commented dryly.

"Who cares?" Ray was visibly thrilled. He turned back to Bob. "Leak these numbers to the media right away. This is fantastic. Man, can you imagine what these numbers would be like if our damn news cycle hadn't been stepped on by Tom Kelsey's arrest?"

"Yes, the bringing to justice of an assassin who may very well have been responsible for Arnold Vinick's death as well as the President-Elect's certainly was a bummer for our campaign," Ainsley retorted.

Ray suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I'm just talking about the timing, that's all. Of course I'm glad they caught him."

Bob turned to Ainsley. "Anyway, we've put a few lines about the Seaborn controversy-"

"The manufactured Seaborn controversy-" she shot back.

"The brilliantly manufactured Seaborn controversy," Bob reiterated with a smile. "We've put a few lines about the controversy in your stump speech."

She frowned. "What do you want me to say?"

He handed her a piece of paper, and she read from it aloud. "I know there are plenty of people out there who don't think a young, somewhat unorthodox woman, who hasn't spent her entire life seeking political power for herself, could possibly hold the office of Vice President. That's okay. I'm used to being underestimated. But I promise you now, those who underestimate me will live to regret it." She sighed. "Fine."

"Good," Bob nodded crisply. "Anyway, we have to be in the motorcade in fifteen minutes."

"We'll meet you there," Ray told him.

"So you're okay with that line?" Ray asked after Bob had left.

She sighed. "It's fine."

"Because you don't have to say it if you don't want to. I can tell Bob to have it taken out of the speech."

She shrugged. She wasn't thrilled with the line, but she supposed it wasn't too outrageous, considering. "This is a campaign. I'll say it."

"Thanks." Ray nodded. "And look…I'm sorry. You were absolutely right. I should have talked to you before giving that press conference."

"Thank you."

He was quiet for a moment. "I have a confession to make."

"What?"

"What I said…it wasn't really only about politics."

"It wasn't?"

"No."

"What else was it about?"

"Well…the bottom line is, I like you. I respect you and I admire you. You're bright, charismatic, talented…I'm so proud to have you on the ticket. And when I heard what Sam Seaborn said, I really just got mad. I felt like I had to stand up for you."

She gave him a skeptical look. "You've been in politics for decades. You really expect me to believe your skin is that thin?"

"Not when it comes to me. I don't care what people say about me. But when stuff gets said about people I like…well, that's one part of this business I don't think I'll ever get used to."

She felt herself flush slightly. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel flattered by his praise. "That's nice of you to say, governor."

He touched her shoulder warmly. "If we win this election, it'll be because of you as much as because of me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey, you look familiar," Danny smiled as CJ sat down across from him at the restaurant table. She had called and asked to meet him for dinner following her conversation with Sam and Donna. She would have to be back at the White House in an hour to help with final prep for the President's press conference, but she really needed to talk to Danny now.

"Hi, Danny.'

"Tall, pretty, shoulder-length brown hair…I know I've seen you before."

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. I don't know if you've been keeping up with the news since you left the _Post_, but I've been kind of busy."

"I know. I'm just giving you a hard time. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

The waiter arrived and took their drink orders, bringing them a basket of warm cornbread muffins.

"These look fantastic," CJ commented, taking one and spreading some butter on it. "I skipped lunch. For that matter, I think I may have skipped breakfast, too."

"So why'd you call me?" Danny asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I barely hear a word from you for a month, and then all of a sudden you call and want to meet for dinner."

"I told you I miss you. You don't believe me?"

"I do. I just don't think that's the only reason you called."

"I'm really that obvious?"

"Frankly? Yeah."'

She sighed. "I had a meeting with Sam Seaborn and Donna Moss today."

"From the Baker campaign?"

"They want me to run for Vice President." She decided not to mince words.

Danny stared at her for a moment, looking impressed. "Vice President."

"Yeah."

"Wow. That's great."

"You think?"

"You don't?"

"I don't know. I don't…I just don't think it's what I want right now. It's really not. I want to move to California and take Frank Hollis up on his offer. I want to help build highways in Africa. I'm so beyond done with politics."

"I understand."

"I mean, I would have told them no on the spot, but I just felt, as a courtesy, that I should agree to think about it overnight."

"Mmm Hmm," Danny nodded. "So then why did you need to have dinner with me all of a sudden?"

"I was hungry?" He held her gaze, and she sighed. "I don't know. I guess I just thought I might as well get an objective second opinion."

"And you thought I'd be objective? You don't think I have a vested interest in moving out to California with you, spending time with you on warm beaches in the winter, and getting to know you as something other than a press secretary and a chief of staff, with me as a reporter and therefore a member of the enemy camp in your eyes?"

"So you don't want me to do it."

"I absolutely do not want you to do it. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't."

She shook her head. "Danny…"

"I mean, we're talking about you possibly being Vice President of the United States."

"Which, as the saying goes, is an office that's not worth a warm bucket of spit."

"Yeah. Except that's bull, and you know it."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. Look, CJ, here's what I think. Frankly, whether you accept Baker's offer or not, chances are Sullivan is going to win."

She stared at him in disbelief. "So you're saying I should accept the offer on the assumption that we won't win, anyway?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is this. If you accept the offer, whether Baker wins or loses, I'm predicting right now that you are the next Democratic nominee for President of the United States."

Her mouth went dry. "I…I don't think necessarily…"

"I do. Think about it, CJ: the first woman President. You." He was quiet for a moment. "That's what we're talking about here, I think."

"This is ridiculous," she shook her head. "You're right: we'll lose. Baker's going to lose, and then I'll be branded a loser. I won't be known as CJ Cregg, former White House Chief of Staff. I'll be CJ Cregg, failed vice presidential candidate."

Danny smiled slightly. "You want to do it, though, don't you?"

"How did you get that from what I said?"

"Your face is turning red. You're stammering a little."

"It would make me an awful person, wouldn't it? Turning down noble, humanitarian work for something like this?"

"If Sullivan wins, I'm sure Hollis's offer would still be available."

"Once again, I'm not going to run on the assumption that we won't win."

"I know. I'm just being realistic. CJ, look, you're still a relatively young woman. Regardless what happens in this election or the next few elections, you're going to have your whole life to do humanitarian work, whether it's for Hollis or someone else. That door is always going to wide open for you. But this: running for Vice President, positioning yourself for a Presidential run – believe me when I tell you, that's the kind of opportunity that usually doesn't come around more than once. And what you need to decide, I think, is whether that's something you want to do in your life. If it's not, turn Baker down. But if it is, the time is now, and I think you have to seize the moment."

"I don't know," she sighed and put her head in her hands. "I was so sure Hollis's offer was what I wanted."

"Well, you have the night to think about it. I know you'll make the right decision. But I do have to say: I think you're getting better at this relationship thing."

"I just love it when you patronize me."

"I know."

"What do you mean I'm getting better at it?"

"You're talking to me. You have a big career decision to make, and rather than just stewing about it on your own, you're talking it over with your boyfriend. I like that. And I really do like hearing the sound of your voice."

She blushed slightly, and he leaned across the table and gave her a kiss.

"I'm going to have to take Baker's offer, aren't I?"

"You don't have to. But if you want to…" He paused, looking at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe being White House Chief of Staff won't be the first line of your obituary after all."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** Parts of this chapter will be familiar to those of you who have read "Political Capital". Also, I suppose I should mention that I borrowed a line from "Friends"...I couldn't resist!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_President Sellner stood at a podium in the East Room, in front of dozens of reporters._ _"After a great deal of thought and soul-searching, I have concluded it is not in the best interest of the nation for me to pursue my lawsuit challenging the special election. The American people deserve to have a democratically elected President, and that is what this special election will provide. Once this crisis is over, I hope congress will take a good look at our laws to ensure greater clarity and guidance should, God forbid, anything like this ever happen again. However, I no longer believe a lawsuit, one that by necessity would have to be hastily decided, is the best way to resolve these questions.. Thank you, and I'll take some questions now."_

_"President Sellner," a reporter asked. "Do you plan to challenge Governor Baker for the Democratic nomination?"_

_"No, I do not," he replied simply._

"Took him long enough to come to his senses," Donna commented, watching the news conference with Josh at his apartment.

"No kidding."

She gazed at him for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to start the conversation she knew they needed to have.

"How'd your day go?" she began.

He was quiet for a moment. He briefly considered telling her about his appointment with Stanley, but changed his mind. It wasn't that he didn't think she'd be pleased to hear he'd been to therapy; she'd been urging him to do that since the shooting. But he just didn't particularly feel like talking about it at the moment.

He shrugged. "Fine. What about you?"

"Sam and I went to the White House today to try to convince CJ to run for Vice President."

"What did she say?"

"She's thinking about it." She paused. "And after our meeting, I ran into Cliff Calley and we talked for awhile."

She saw Josh's mouth tighten slightly. "He hasn't painted my office black or anything, has he? Re-upholstered the furniture?"

"It hasn't been your office for more than a year," she reminded him gently.

"Yeah, but still…"

"If it wasn't for you, I would have been arrested for perjury."

He turned to look at her. "He was actually going to-"

"Yeah."

"What a sleazy scumbag."

"He's not. You know he's not, Josh. He could have done all sorts of damage to the Bartlet administration, and he didn't. And he helped Leo out, remember? During the MS hearings? And for that matter, remember how he helped Santos engineer that stem cell stunt that ended up giving his campaign that much-needed boost, not to mention, of course, saving stem cell funding-"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. He's a saint. Maybe you should ask him out."

She bit her lip. This wasn't going the way she planned. "That's not what I'm trying to say. You risked your career to protect me, that's the point."

He shrugged. "I had October 4th and 5th as collateral."

"That wouldn't have stopped him and you know it. He could have ruined your career, Josh. If he'd told people what you'd done-"

"Yeah, well, he didn't."

"You shouldn't have done it. You should have fired me. I deserved to be fired."

"No, you didn't. You got scared and made a mistake, that's all."

"A mistake was when I didn't think Ramahedi Bambang could speak English. Perjury is a crime."

"It was years ago. Why are you…" Josh's eyes narrowed. "What exactly did Cliff say to you?"

"Nothing-"

"He didn't…is he trying to use it against you for something? Did he threaten you?" Josh's voice rose slightly. He got to his feet, running a hand through his hair.

Donna couldn't help but smile slightly. It never failed to melt her heart when Josh got protective of her. "Josh, no. I told you he's a good guy." She sighed. "Believe it or not, what I'm trying to do right now is apologize to you."

"For what?"

"Well, where to start?" She stood and placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry I left my job without notice. I'm sorry for never giving you an explanation for why I left. I'm sorry for being so awful to you afterward. I'm sorry…I'm really sorry for the 'I meant Will' crack."

"Donna-"

"No, let me finish," she held up her hand. "Talking to Cliff reminded me of all you've done for me over the years. That loopy college dropout who tried to lie her way into a job back in New Hampshire – you would have been absolutely justified in showing her the door, or at least relegating her to stuffing envelopes or something. If we'd never met, I'd be – well, I don't know what I'd be doing, but not this. I'd probably be…answering phones, most likely, only not 50 feet from the Oval Office, but in some office park somewhere. I might still be with Sean…Dr. Freeride. I don't know if I'd have had the courage to leave him if I hadn't had you and the Bartlet campaign to go back to. I guess I just got hit over the head with how ungrateful I've been."

He tousled her hair lightly. "Hiring you was one of the best things I've ever done. There's nothing you have to be grateful for."

"Yes, there is. You gave me a career, you risked _your_ career to protect me, you gave me a pass over that whole thing with Jack and the quote, you taught me everything I know about politics, and then after all that I started treating you like you were my mortal enemy or something. I hurt you so much, I know I did."

Josh shook his head in denial, although his face told a different story. "It's ancient history."

"That's not what you said a few nights ago in Texas."

"I…I was drunk. I told you I was sorry for that."

"Yes, you were just drunk enough to tell me how you really felt. That is okay, you know. It's okay to be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Josh-" she closed her eyes. "If we're going to have a relationship, we have to be able to be honest with each other. Whatever it is you have to say to me, just say it."

He stood quietly for a long moment, staring at the ground. "Why?" he finally asked, his voice suddenly choked.

"Why-?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"I don't-"

He cut her off, his voice shaking slightly. "You just left. After eight years, all we'd been through together – two presidential elections, Rosslyn, PTSD, the diary, Zoey's kidnapping, Carrick, Gaza…" his voice broke off momentarily. "You were my best friend. Hell, there were times after Sam left when I felt like you were my only friend. I always thought, arrogantly, I guess, that you felt the same way about me."

"I did."

"You didn't." His voice rose. "You left. Just like that, in the middle of the bullpen."

"I left the job-"

"Not the job. You left me!" He ran his hand through his hair, clearly becoming more agitated. "You just threw our friendship away, like it meant nothing to you. Eight years, and…no goodbye, nothing! You just quit, like all I was to you was a boss you didn't like very much. No, scratch that, even a boss you didn't like very much, you would have given two weeks' notice to. I was worse than that to you. Just tell me, what did I do that was so awful that I deserved to have you walk out on me like that?" Suddenly he got very quiet and stared at the ground. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that."

She paled. "Josh-"

"Really, forget it. I'm sorry."

"You think I blame you for Gaza."

He still wouldn't look at her. "Of course you blame me for Gaza, and you have every reason to."

"Josh, no."

"I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me for it. I've never forgiven the Rosslyn shooters."

"The _Rosslyn shooters_-" she stared at him in disbelief. "My God, Josh, are you even listening to yourself? How dare you compare yourself to…_you_ didn't plant that bomb!"

"I sent you there. I did it for the wrong reasons. You didn't need to be there. We had it covered; I didn't need to put you on the CODEL. But you were mad at me about the Brussels trip, and you wanted more advanced work to do, plus I was feeling guilty about some campaign promises we'd had to break, which didn't have anything to do with you, but I guess I kind of projected it onto…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," she gave him a small smile. "I mean, I didn't exactly want you to kick someone else off the trip for me, but I learned so much. I saw things I never would have had a chance to see otherwise."

"And then you got blown up and almost died because your idiot boss-"

"Josh, stop it," she held up a hand. "You have to stop blaming yourself for things that weren't your fault. You're going to go crazy."

"I already am. I have PTSD, remember?" He managed a slight, ironic smile. He let out a long breath and sat back down on the sofa.

Donna sat down next to him. "Josh, have you…thought any more about calling Stanley?"

He paused for a moment. "I had an appointment with him today."

"What?"

"With the other Stanley, I mean. I didn't fly Keyworth all the way out here."

She put an arm around him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know."

She waited for a moment. When it became clear she wasn't going to get more of an answer than that, she moved on. "How did it go?"

"He thinks I have an eating disorder." He found himself dodging that question with the same weak line he'd given Leo years ago.

"Josh."

"It was fine. It was no big deal. It's not like I've never been to therapy before."

She bit her lip, looking at him. She was glad he'd made the appointment, but she had to admit that it hurt that he hadn't told her about it until now. Maybe their relationship was more on the rocks than she realized.

"You should have told me. I'd have come with you."

"I didn't need anyone to come with me."

"You don't think I'd have wanted to come with you? Be there when you got out of the appointment?"

"You have a job. You have better things to do than tend to your nutcase boyfriend."

"You're not a nutcase, and I don't have better things to do."

"Donna…" he sighed. "Look, I know you've been feeling sorry for me lately, given everything that's happened, and I appreciate it, I do, but trust me - pity is no basis for a solid relationship. The novelty will wear off, believe me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's not nothing, because this is the second time you've said that to me. You said the same thing in Texas. You honestly think I'm staying with you out of pity?"

"Why wouldn't I think that? The last few years, the only times you've seemed to, you know, like me, were when you felt sorry for me. After the Illinois thing, you continued your long tradition of coddling me when you thought I was about to be fired. You were there after Leo died. You've done your best to be there for me since the shooting. But the rest of the time – I just don't get it, Donna."

"Josh-"

"I didn't have a look of panic on my face."

"What?"

"When you delivered your little speech about four weeks…I didn't have a look of panic. I was exhausted. I'd barely slept five hours in the past week, but I would have had that conversation with you. Or at least, I thought I was ready to have it until-"

"Until what?"

"You said you'd leave. If we hadn't worked things out to your satisfaction in four weeks, you'd just cut your losses and walk away. Just like that, like it would be no big deal to you. I mean, you needed some kind of litmus test to figure out if it was even worth it. If _we_ were even worth it. And all of a sudden it was right there in my face that this…us…our relationship…that it was a whole lot more important to me than it was to you."

"That's not true." She paused. "You were the one who said you didn't think four weeks would be long enough!"

"I know," he sighed. "I guess I just didn't know if I could do it. I'd already lost you twice in the space of a year, and I didn't know if I had it in me to go through that again. Of course, I finally came to my senses and realized it was better to risk losing you than to let the deadline expire and lose you for sure. And as for not getting hurt, that ship had already sailed. But-"

She stared at him. "_That_ was why you-"

He looked down and nodded.

"Oh, Josh, I'm so sorry. I can see why you might have thought that. I know I sounded casual and blasé. I wanted to sound that way. I wanted to think of myself as this sophisticated, modern woman who didn't need a man to be happy, but the truth is, when you started rambling about not being able to get a handle on things in the time frame I'd laid out…like you were discussing some business negotiation or something…I just wanted to cry. I thought it meant you weren't sure you wanted anything but sex from me."

"Donna-"

"Twice?" She suddenly gave him a quizzical look as what he'd said a few seconds ago sunk in.

"What?"

'You said you'd lost me twice in the space of a year."

"Yeah." He looked down. "You know…almost twice."

Tears formed in her eyes. "Josh…"

He was quiet for several moments, still gazing at the floor. "I...I sat on that plane, sure that when I landed and got to the hospital, they were going to tell me you were dead. Fitz was dead, the congressmen, and it seemed like too much to hope for that you…I just kept reading your emails from Gaza, over and over again, thinking they were going to be the last words I'd ever hear from you. I think I memorized every one of them."

She stared at him, her lips quavering. "Oh, Josh…I had no idea."

He sighed. "And then just when I thought everything was going to be alright, that you were going to be okay, and I left you to go on that stupid quasi-espionage adventure…when I got back to your hospital room, you weren't there, and they told me you'd developed, of all things, a pulmonary embolism-"

"Oh God," she gasped. "Your dad…" How could she never have made that connection before?

He swallowed and nodded.

"Oh Josh." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I didn't even think about that. I was so focused on what I was going through – I guess I never even really thought about how hard it must have been for you. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous. You were the one who got blown up, and you think you should have been expending your energy feeling sorry for me?"

"Yes, I should have." She managed to give him a soft smile. "I do, after all, have some frame of reference to understand what it's like to sit in a hospital waiting to find out if someone you love is going to live or die."

"You…loved me?" He looked at her. "Even back then?"

"Long before then, actually."

They sat in silence for several moments before Josh spoke. "But that changed."

"It didn't." Her voice wasn't entirely convincing.

"You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why?" He finally looked at her, and she saw there were tears in his eyes. "If it wasn't…if it really wasn't Gaza, then why? What did I do to…make you hate me?"

"I never hated you."

It was clear from his expression that he didn't believe her. "I mean, was it…was it really just about a promotion?"

"It wasn't just that," she said softly. "It was a lot of things. I'd gotten way too attached to you, and I needed to assert my independence, and yes, I did want career advancement, and…"

"You could have gotten all those things without-"

"I know," she acknowledged. He continued to look at her, his eyes demanding an explanation, and she finally sighed. "I don't know why I acted the way I did. I know there's no excuse. I was so ungrateful-"

He shook his head. "I don't want you sticking around out of gratitude any more than I do out of pity."

"I'm not…either of those things. I love you, Josh. You believe that, don't you?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe you do. But I…don't think you like me very much anymore. I don't think you've liked me for a long time now."

"That's not true-"

"And I don't blame you. I know I can be a pain in the ass. But the thing is, that's not going to change. I'm always going to be, you know, me. I'm going to be clueless sometimes, and arrogant, and cocky, and miss signals, and say the wrong things, and if that's…if that's not going to be good enough for you, then maybe that's something we both need to accept now, before we get in any deeper." He seemed to be getting the words out quickly, as if he was afraid of losing his nerve.

Her face went white as a ghost. "Are you saying you want to break up?" He didn't answer right away, and she felt a wave of panic. "Josh?"

"That's the last thing I want." His voice shook, and he surreptitiously wiped tears from his eyes.

"I don't want it either. I love you, Josh," she repeated. It broke her heart that he found that so hard to believe, that she'd managed to hurt him so badly that he couldn't get his head around the idea that she felt anything other than pity for him. She touched his cheek. "And I do like you. And how could you ever think I'd want you to be anyone other than…you know, you?"

A hint of a smile crossed his face. They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Donna turned to him, ready to make one more attempt at answering his question.

"You know, I think it's a pretty well-established fact that you're terrible at relationships," she began.

Josh nodded, unable to deny a statement of such obvious truth.

"What I think is a less well-established fact is that I'm terrible at them, too. I mean, look at my track record. I meet guys I like, I go out with them, I usually sleep with them on the first or second date, and then I can never figure out why they don't tend to stick around for more than a few weeks. It's been that way since I was 16 years old. I don't know if you'd have guessed this about me, but I...I slept around a lot in high school and college. I didn't want to be…you know, I wasn't trying to be a slut…" she noticed Josh cringe slightly at her use of that word, but continued: "…I just wanted guys to like me. I wanted to be 'coupled up', as I think you once pointed out, and I thought the only way to have that was to give guys what they wanted. Not that it worked very well. Other than you, the only long-term relationship I've had was with a guy who used to slap me around when he got mad at me, and not only did I let him, I also kept right on paying his tuition, because I just didn't want to be alone. And then-" her voice broke off when she saw the look on Josh's face.

"What did you say?"

She looked down. "Yeah."

"He…he hit you?"

She nodded quietly. It had been something she'd wanted to tell him for quite awhile, but she'd never been quite sure how to bring it up.

He started at her, absorbing the news. "Your ankle when you came back…you didn't have a car accident."

"No." She swallowed hard and decided to move on from the topic. She suddenly didn't feel like discussing it any further. "And then there was Jack. He didn't ask me to take the blame for that quote – he called me and told me the situation, and I offered to do it."

"He still let you," Josh pointed out, although his mind was clearly still on the previous topic of conversation.

"Yes, I know, but the point is I was willing to. I think I knew you wouldn't fire me, but I knew it would still be awful and humiliating."

"You said his name was Sean?"

"Yeah." Clearly her attempt to change the subject had failed.

"He still lives in Wisconsin?"

She sighed. "Josh…"

"'Cause I could…you know, I have a lot of free time on my hands these days. I could fly out there and teach him a lesson."

The topic wasn't close to amusing, but still, she couldn't help but smile. "My hero. And what makes you think he's not, you know, a bodybuilder or something?"

"Is he a bodybuilder?"

"No."

"Anyway, it wouldn't matter. I'd still find a way to get him." His expression turned more serious. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Thanks." She sighed and once again changed the subject. "Anyway, I guess…after a conversation I had with CJ, and especially after Gaza, I just started to face up to how dysfunctional I was when it came to men. And especially when it came to you. I'd gotten so attached to you. I thought about you every day. And you being there in Germany…I think that made it even worse. I'd lie awake at night and remember you sitting by my bedside, looking at me like I was the most important person in the world to you. It was like this wonderful romantic fantasy. Except that's all it was – a fantasy. I wasn't your girlfriend. I was just your assistant. Maybe an assistant you liked, and had grown fond of, but nothing more. And I just started feeling pathetic, being so hopelessly in love with someone I thought would never return those feelings."

"You _were_ the most important person in the world to me," Josh told her, his voice tender. "You still are."

"You never said anything."

"What did you want me to say? 'Hey, Donna, I know I'm your boss, and you've just been blown up, and you're on pain medication, and plus you have this hot new boyfriend fawning over you, but what I really think you should do is ditch him and be with me.' You'd have had every right to file a complaint against me."

"You really think I would have done that?"

"No," he confessed. "But it still wouldn't have been right. Rules against bosses and subordinates dating, they're not…" he paused. "They're not puritanical. They're there for good reason, mainly to protect the person in your position."

"Protect me from…you?"

"Well…yeah. I mean, being asked out by a guy who happened to be your boss would have put you – put both of us, actually – in a pretty awkward position, especially if you weren't interested. Plus…" he paused and sighed. "You know, there's the fact that I've always had an abnormally strong fear of rejection, especially when it comes to women."

"I wouldn't have rejected you."

"I didn't know that. You seemed pretty taken with Colin."

"I was flattered, at least at first, that he'd flown all the way to Germany to see me. But truthfully, I kind of wanted him to leave. You were there. You were the one I wanted to see. And then it started feeling kind of…I don't know, creepy. I mean, I'd known this guy all of about a day, and here he was, visiting me in another country. After you left, I told him as politely as I could that what we'd had was nice, but that it had just been a fling, and I didn't want to see him any more."

"Really?" Josh looked surprised. "You weren't still with him when you got back to the White House?"

"No."

"The calls…and the flowers…"

"They weren't from him."

"Who were they from?"

"TV networks, mostly. All wanting an exclusive from the girl-next-door who survived a terrorist attack." She shook her head. "Anyway, as I was saying, I really needed to stop letting my life revolve around men. I needed some independence. That's what I was trying to do. And in a way, I succeeded. I found something that I was good at. I grew professionally. I gained a confidence I'd never had before. Except…" she felt a pang of shame. "Leave it to me to go from one extreme to the other. I was so cruel to you, so hurtful, and the worst part is, I enjoyed it. It made me feel proud of myself that I could hurt you like that. It was like I went from guy-crazy pushover to cold, unfeeling bitch without ever passing middle ground."

"Hey." Josh put a finger on her lips. "No one talks that way about Donnatella Moss." He sighed. "I'm sorry, too, Donna. I knew you wanted more. You wanted career advancement, and I didn't give it to you. It was just that I couldn't stand the thought of coming to work every day and not seeing you. I should have gotten past that. You deserved to be promoted into the best position I could find for you, but-"

"I don't know," Donna shrugged. "Given my number of monumental screw-ups, I'm not so sure I deserved any promotion at all. Any position that came along that someone on the assistant level would have been qualified for, it probably should have gone to Carol or Margaret before it went to me. At least neither of them ever committed perjury."

"Yeah, well, given my track record, I'm not sure I'm in a position to hold anyone else's monumental screw-ups against them for very long. Believe me, Donna, you were the best assistant anyone could have asked for. I should have been the one to help you get to the next level, but I wasn't. I'm so sorry. You were absolutely right to leave."

"Yes, I was," she said softly. "But I wasn't right to treat you the way I did. You deserved to be promoted to Chief of Staff after Leo's heart attack. Did the fact that you weren't lead you to decide that President Bartlet was some horrible, tyrannical ogre who was keeping you down?"

"No," Josh had to suppress a chuckle at the thought of President Bartlet being described as a tyrannical ogre. "That's how you thought of me, though," he added softly. It wasn't exactly news to him, but it still hurt to hear the words spoken aloud.

"I guess in a way I needed to think that about you. I had to be mad at you. If I wasn't, the thought of leaving…well, I don't think I could have done it. To tell you the truth, I think I wanted you to cancel those lunches, so I could put off saying what I needed to say, and it would be your fault – also helping me to stay mad at you, wasn't I brilliant? I remember at one point putting that statement from Penn and Teller in your hand, which I knew full well would send you through the roof, and then in the next breath asking you when we could have our talk, and getting peeved when I got the blow-off. I think I actually interrupted you in the middle of a discussion about whether or not that asteroid was going to demolish Earth in order to pester you about it. I swear, I don't think it was exactly conscious, but I couldn't have done a better job of setting myself up to be ignored if I'd tried."

"Breakfast that day," Josh couldn't resist pointing out. "Breakfast on _the day_ you were quitting, and you didn't say anything. You just sat there, singing songs with me like nothing was wrong."

"I wasn't actually planning to leave that day," she admitted. "I really was planning to give you at least two weeks' notice. When we finally, sort of, talked at the end of the day, I used the words 'I quit' and talked about a temp being at my desk the next day in order to get your attention. But it didn't work," a note of hurt entered her voice. "You didn't even believe me. So I figured when you got to work the next day and I wasn't there, you'd call me, and I'd let you have it for ignoring me and canceling our lunches. I wasn't going to let you talk me into coming back permanently – at least, I was pretty sure I wasn't. But if you were suitably humble and apologized profusely enough, I was planning to agree to come back and train my replacement. But you never called."

"I didn't think you wanted me to call," Josh said softly. "I pretty much thought you never wanted to talk to me again. And then when I saw you that day in Will's office, and you chased me out the door only to say 'can we not make this a thing'…I mean, it just screamed, 'I'm so over you, Josh.' Not that you were ever…you know, under me."

She grimaced at the line. "Believe me, I wasn't over you. I tried to be, but I wasn't. I could never be over you."

"I'm sorry, Donna. I'm really sorry about the lunches. I'm sorry for not believing you when you said you were quitting. You had every right to be pissed at me. You don't know how many times I've kicked myself for ignoring you like that."

"It was no excuse for how I acted. I know I was awful. Like I said, I felt like I had to be. I had to be cold, and distant, and do my best to push you away – otherwise, I might have ended up giving in and leaving my fantastic new job to go running back to work for you."

"Would that have been so bad?" Josh asked. "Russell wasn't the real thing. You can't tell me you didn't know that. You even said you might vote for Vinick, like two weeks before you went to work for Russell."

"I know," Donna confessed. "I tried not to think too much about that. At first, I tried to convince myself that it didn't matter whether Santos was the better candidate, since he wasn't going anywhere, but I knew better. I knew you never would have left your job at the White House to go work for him if you didn't think he could win. And if you thought he could win, that was something to be taken seriously."

"Well, given the fact that at first he was probably polling in the very low single digits – and I say probably because we couldn't afford to do our own polling and almost no public pollsters were even bothering to include him – I guess I can't blame you for working for a guy who actually seemed to have a shot."

"Yes. But then after Super Tuesday, all of a sudden it was a two-person dead heat between Santos and Russell, and I knew I was working for the wrong candidate, and I kept doing it. I spent sixteen, eighteen hour days trying to help a guy get the nomination who, in the highly unlikely event he actually beat Vinick, would be a mediocre President at best, disastrous at worst. I put myself and my career over what I knew was best for the country. I'm not proud of that. I just keep thinking of you, and how even though you don't leave people, you left Hoynes because you realized he wasn't the right candidate – and I know how hard that was for you, but you did it anyway, and I wonder why I couldn't have been more like you."

Josh shook his head, resisting the cocky 'lots of people wish they could be more like me' comeback that he might have offered under different circumstances. "You wouldn't have wanted to do that. It wasn't fair of me to even suggest that you should have. Defecting to the Santos campaign right in the middle of the primaries? It would have been awful for you."

"You did it."

"When I left Hoynes, the primary season was still months away, and it was still just about the hardest thing I've ever done. In some ways it was even harder than leaving the White House. At least President Bartlet understood what I was doing and why, and he knew I wasn't rejecting him."

"Hoynes didn't take it well, I gather?"

"You could say that," Josh rolled his eyes. "I mean, it was bad enough that I was leaving the campaign. Worse still that I was leaving to join the campaign of one of his opponents. But that I was leaving to join the campaign of someone he didn't yet even take seriously enough to consider an opponent? That was just too much. He blew his top. He told me I was committing political suicide, and that in two years when he was President and I was working as a flunky for some Connecticut state legislator, or whoever the hell would have me after I'd publicly dissed my party's future President, he hoped I'd lie awake every night thinking about that West Wing office that could have been mine if only I'd gotten my head out of my ass and stopped obsessing about Social Security."

Donna rubbed his shoulder. "I didn't know it was that bad."

Josh let out a breath. "Well, it's water under the bridge now…but like I said, there's no way I would have wanted you to go through that with Russell."

She shook her head. "Russell wouldn't have said those things. I don't think I ever once saw him really lose his cool the whole time I worked for him."

"Yeah, you have to have a pulse to lose your cool," Josh couldn't help but retort. "And Russell might not be as hot-headed as Hoynes, but trust me, he's more vindictive. If you'd abandoned him for Santos, any opportunity in the future he might have had to screw you over, he'd have done it just out of spite."

"I should have done it anyway," she insisted. "Especially once Vinick got the Republican nomination. I meant what I said about maybe voting for him. Let's face it, he'd probably have been a better President than Russell."

Josh nodded. "Hell, if Russell had gotten the nomination, I might have voted for Vinick."

She smiled. "No you wouldn't have."

He thought for a moment, trying to imagine himself marking the circle on his ballot next to the presidential candidate with the word "Republican" after his name, and shook his head. "No, I wouldn't have," he conceded. "But I'd have been tempted." He sighed. "And look, while we're apologizing, I'm sorry for not hiring you after the convention. I should have. I guess I was just so freaked out about whether we…whether I…could really pull this thing off now that we actually had the nomination and the stakes were so much higher – and I have to admit, my hurt feelings about…you know, us…played into it too, but I shouldn't have let that influence anything."

"Well, considering the fact that my last job with you I'd left without notice, anyone else probably wouldn't even have let me in the door for an interview. And you were right. I'd given the Vinick campaign a treasure trove of soundbites to use against Santos. I mean, I could picture the ads…"

"_'Here's what Matt Santos' own campaign aide says about him_…'" Josh intoned in agreement.

"Something like that."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but that cut both ways. Having Bob Russell's attack dog on board with Santos probably sent a message to pissed off Russell supporters that it was okay to bury the hatchet."

"Bob Russell's attack dog? Is that how you saw me?"

"Isn't that how you wanted people to see you?"

"No. Not really. I was his spokesperson. It was my job to draw distinctions-"

"You mocked his military service, Donna."

"No I didn't!"

"'Ask him about the overhead compartment?'"

She flushed. "I was just trying to make the point that-"

"I know what your point was. And you know you can't say things like that and not expect some blowback."

She shook her head. "Are you ever going to stop throwing those quotes back at me?"

"I'm not throwing them back at you."

"Yes you are. You relished doing it at the interview, and don't try to deny it."

"Maybe…a little. I'm not proud of it, but I guess on some level I kind of enjoyed being the one to reject you for a change."

"I didn't reject-"

"But believe me, when you started crying and left – if your plan was to make me feel like the biggest jerk in the universe, you succeeded."

She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, that wasn't planned. I think the only thing more humiliating than bursting into tears during a job interview would be bursting into tears during a job interview with you."

"You shouldn't have walked out of the interview, you know."

"Why not?"

"You didn't want to try harder to convince me to hire you?"

"You'd already told me no."

"Yes, I had, and I meant it. I'm just saying, I don't know how much longer my willpower would have held out."

She shook her head, marveling at the absurdity that had marked their interactions over the past year or so. "You and me, we really have done everything the hard way, haven't we?"

"I guess so." He reached over and gently stroked her hair.

"I mean, to think this is the first time in the past…since I quit, really…that we've actually talked about all this. We really are pathetic."

"No kidding." He shook his head. "So let me ask you this. If you're terrible at relationships, and I'm terrible at relationships, where exactly does that leave us?"

She smiled. "Figuring it out as we go along, I guess."

He pulled her toward him and kissed her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, pulling him down onto the sofa.

"You don't want to take this into the bedroom?" he asked huskily as she started pulling his t-shirt over his head.

"I don't have that kind of time," she smiled, bringing her mouthto his and kissing him again. Josh let his lips slip down to her neck and began unbuttoning her blouse, a million thoughts going through his head. Her tender, reassuring words had felt good…good enough to begin to push from his mind, at least for the moment, some of the painful thoughts and feelings that had come up during his appointment with Stanley. He was still shaken by what Donna had told him about Dr. Freeride. He still wanted to kill the guy, but it was fairly apparent that Donna didn't want to talk about it, and he knew he probably shouldn't push her. The trauma of the assassination, and Leo's death, and Joanie's, still weighed on him. But despite all that, feeling her skin against his, he realized he was feeling better than he had in quite a long time.


	23. Chapter 23

"Good job," Sam commented encouragingly to the governor, as he and Donna walked with Eric and Dottie Baker through West Potomac Park. The couple had just finished an extended interview with _20/20_, primarily discussing Dottie's depression and the medical records that had been leaked at the convention. They had decided to film the segment outdoors. It was a crisp but sunny day, and the cherry blossoms were just beginning to come out, creating an ideal atmosphere for an interview of that nature.

"You don't think I hurt us too much?" Dottie asked, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice.

"Not at all," Donna reassured her as they headed in the direction of the waiting motorcade. "It was wonderful. Very human. Everyone watching is going to see a loving couple who has worked through some very difficult issues. Issues that a lot of families can relate to, I'm sure."

"You more than diffused any suspicion over medical information being hidden," Sam told Eric. "Even in today's presidential elections, where virtually everything in a candidate's life is considered fair game, there is a line. The public simply doesn't have any need to know about the medical history of a candidate's spouse. I thought you made that point beautifully. If anything, you probably re-stoked the outrage over those records being leaked."

Donna bit her lip. She stopped walking and put a hand on Dottie's arm. "Mrs. Baker, listen, I've been meaning to tell you…you know I worked for the Russell campaign when those records were released. I didn't support that decision. I tried to talk them out of doing it. I'm so sorry."

Dottie shook her head. "It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe not my fault, exactly, but I was a part of that campaign. It was my candidate who approved the release of those records. He didn't even blink. Will said his face lit up when he told him about the fax, like he'd just won the lottery or something."

"Bob Russell's always been a royal jackass – in my humble opinion," Eric responded. "A big part of the reason I ended up snubbing his VP offer."

"I think that was why Santos snubbed him, too," Donna added. "Guess it's a clue that there might be something wrong with a potential presidential nominee when no one can stomach the thought of being on a ticket with him."

"Anyway," Sam changed the subject as the four of them approached the motorcade and stepped into the limo. "CJ Cregg is meeting you at the office later today."

"She's on board for VP?" Eric asked.

"I think so. That's the impression I got when I talked to her on the phone this morning."

"So if she says yes, we announce her tomorrow."

"Yeah. Between this and the _20/20_ segment, we'll get a couple good news cycles and hopefully a bump in the polls."

"They'll get the momentum back when their convention starts on Monday, though," Eric pointed out.

"That'll be temporary. The week after that is our convention. Party in power always goes last, which in this case is a gift. These aren't going to be ordinary conventions. We have to walk a fine line: enthusiastically promoting your candidacy without appearing to be happy about a national tragedy."

"Balloon drops may not be appropriate," Donna added.

"Anyway, we get to see what the Republicans do and respond accordingly," Sam concluded.

"Sounds good," Eric nodded as the motorcade pulled out of the parking lot.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm not resigning as Chief of Staff," CJ told Eric Baker as they sat in his office, finalizing plans for the vice presidential selection.

"That's fine. I'm not resigning as governor. Not unless we win, of course. Until we win, I mean."

"Of course not, but a Chief of Staff can't just take a leave of absence. I'll delegate as much work as I can to Cliff and Will, but there will be times when I won't be able to travel with the campaign."

"I understand. We can actually make it a selling point. You're not on the campaign trail because you're helping run the country."

"Clever spin. You think people will buy it?"

"It's not spin. It's the truth."

They were interrupted by Ronna poking her head into the office. "Governor?"

"Yeah?"

"I just thought you'd like to know: MSNBC is reporting that Max Grimm has formally changed his plea to guilty in the assassination. He issued a statement to the press through his lawyer, acknowledging ties to West Virginia White Pride. They're the same people who were behind the Rosslyn shooting – as I'm sure you know."

"God. You're kidding." Eric let out a long sigh. Tom Kelsey's arrest had already pretty much blown out of the water the theory that Grimm had been a Paris Hilton-obsessed nutcase, but this was the first public revelation about the true motive for the assassination that had been released.

"The FBI is also now saying they think there's at least one other conspirator, and they're not ruling out the possibility of more. A reward of $100,000 has been announced for anyone with information leading to the arrest and conviction-"

"Great," Eric sighed. He had hoped – everyone had hoped – that with Kelsey's arrest, all the perpetrators had been apprehended. "Any connection to the Vinick shooting?"

"They're not saying. Not yet, anyway."

He turned back to CJ. "A situation like this…two assassinations, some of the culprits still at large, a frightened electorate…it may be a rough campaign."

"I know."

"You sure you're up for it?"

CJ smiled, but there was a look of determination on her face. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ainsley beamed at the energetic convention crowd. _"With your help, Governor Ray Sullivan will be the next President of the United States. I know this man, and I can vouch for him. He will work tirelessly for all of you, and he will never give up the fight to keep this country safe. He will ensure that any and all of the individuals responsible for murdering Matthew Santos and Arnold Vinick are brought to justice and made to pay for what they have done to this country. And as he protects the nation from the threat of terrorism, he will also work to strengthen our economy. He will lead the fight for lower taxes and limited government, because when government is smaller, the people are more free. I am honored and humbled by the confidence placed in me by Governor Sullivan, and I will work every day to prove myself worthy of his trust, and of yours.'_

Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Ainsley felt a warm glow in her heart. The party had settled on an abbreviated but still enthusiastic convention, to last two days instead of the standard four. Her speech was the highlight of the evening. Tomorrow, Governor Sullivan would be giving his acceptance speech.

Despite the initial bumps in her relationship with Ray, at this moment she felt nothing but pride in her heart. She was proud of her party, proud of her country for its resilience in the face of this unprecedented crisis, and proud of the candidate she was standing behind. She'd never been an insider in a presidential campaign before, and she'd come to realize that perhaps she'd been a little naïve about some of the hardball tactics that inevitably went on behind the scenes, tactics that were probably necessary in order to win. She felt more confident than ever that Governor Sullivan was the right man to lead the country as President. She would continue to speak out if she saw the campaign going too far when it came to ethical compromises, of course, but right now, she was determined to simply savor the thrill of having just accepted the de facto nomination for Vice President of the United States.

"That was wonderful," Ray told her, giving her a warm hug as she stepped off the stage.

"Thank you, governor."

"Really. You were a hit. They loved you. Bet you give us a five-point bump, at least."

"Well, that would be nice, but bumps are by their nature temporary. That's why people call them bumps."

"In an election cycle this short? You never know. The bump may just not come down before people start voting." He patted her shoulder affectionately. "Anyway, Bob's waiting for us in the office. He should have some new polling numbers for us."

"Good news, you think?"

"Who knows?" he shrugged. "Baker's had a few good news cycles, so we probably took a bit of a hit, but we'll turn it around. Oh – here," he handed her some sheets of paper. "Some briefing materials – the latest on the Kazakhstan situation and the assassination investigations."

"To ensure that I don't embarrass us in interviews," she smiled.

"Trust me, no chance of that," he smiled as they walked into the temporary office that had been set up at the convention hall.

"Ten point bounce!" Bob's angry voice greeted them as soon as they walked through the door.

"What?" Ainsley asked.

"Baker got a goddamn ten point bounce in a week! This is absurd."

"Bounces come down. That's why they're called bounces," Ray pointed out, exchanging a glance with Ainsley.

"Ten points! All because Baker and his wife cried on _20/20_ about her depression. Gee, I didn't know having a crazy wife was now considered a qualification for the presidency!"

Ainsley's eyes narrowed at the insensitivity of the comment. Ray shook his head. "Don't worry, he doesn't talk like that in front of reporters."

"Political correctness has never been my strong point," Bob added, sounding proud of that fact.

"Golly, you don't say?" Ainsley retorted, although she was still on too much of a high from her speech to get too upset at the crack.

"Ten points!" Bob repeated in frustration. "That puts us at pretty much a dead heat. We were running away with this damn thing, and now it's all tied up."

"It's a minor blip," Ray assured him. "We'll get a big convention bounce, you'll see."

"And then they get their bounce next week at their convention. I don't like how this thing is going."

"I don't think Governor Baker's bounce can be attributed entirely to the _20/20_ interview," Ainsley offered. "The selection of CJ Cregg also got him quite a bit of good press."

"Now that's a disaster waiting to happen," Ray predicted. "Picking a woman who came this close to being indicted for divulging classified information? Someone who's Chief of Staff to the most unpopular President in history? It's going to backfire. We're going to make sure of that. As soon as the convention is over, we go into attack mode."

"Already working on the ads," Bob promised.

There was a knock at the door, and a campaign aide stepped into the office. "The motorcade's ready."

Ainsley and Bob began heading for the door. Ainsley turned back when she noticed that Ray wasn't following them. "Aren't you coming?"

"I have some work to finish up here," he told her. "I probably won't be going back to the hotel for an hour or so, at least."

"Okay," she shrugged, walking out of the office.

She was about to step into the motorcade when she let out a sigh of frustration. "Shute."

"What's wrong?" Bob asked.

"The briefing memos the governor gave me – I left them in the office." She paused for a moment. "Do you think there's time to…"

"Go ahead. Run up and get them. The motorcade won't take off without you," he reassured her with a smile.

"Are you sure? I've heard stories about that kind of thing having happened on Jed Bartlet's campaigns."

"That's 'cause they're Democrats – famous for being disorganized and all," Bob responded jokingly.

She smiled and headed back toward the building, several Secret Service agents following at a distance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"She's good," CJ commented to Donna as they watched the television coverage of Ainsley's speech to the Republican convention.

"Your speech will be better," Donna assured her automatically.

"I wouldn't count on that."

"A ten point bump in a week, just for picking you as VP – what does that tell you about your appeal to the electorate?"

"I think the _20/20_ interview also had something to do with that bounce."

"Yeah, that too," Donna acknowledged. "So I was thinking – do you think Danny would want to go with you on the campaign trail? Maybe appear with you at some rallies?"

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea," CJ frowned. "We're not married. Not even engaged. Having my boyfriend following me around on the campaign…well, I'm guessing the things that would get said about me wouldn't exactly be flattering."

"I guess you're right," Donna conceded. "I was just thinking…you know, maybe it would help you guys actually be able to spend some time together."

"We're doing fine," CJ insisted. "We've faced bigger obstacles than this, and here we are, still in each other's lives…guess that says something."

Donna smiled. "You two really are perfect for each other, you know?"

"Thanks." CJ paused and looked at her. "So how are things going with you and Josh?"

"Good," Donna responded. She realized that answer was actually probably closer to being true than it had been at any point in their relationship. Not that that was exactly a high bar, she acknowledged to herself, but still…it was a start.

"Just don't let him start dragging you down again."

Donna suddenly frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

Donna tensed slightly. "Josh never dragged me down."

"Okay."

"He didn't!"

CJ sighed. "Donna, your career didn't start taking off until you got away from him. You know that as well as I do."

"I…I got a new job. A better job. A job I never would have been able to get if it weren't for the opportunities Josh gave me, by the way. But if I stayed in my position at the White House longer than maybe I should have, it wasn't his fault."

"No, it was both of you," CJ repeated the point she'd made on the day of the lockdown. "And I like Josh. You know that. I just think if he'd really had your best interests at heart, he wouldn't have kept you in that job for the better part of a decade."

Until recently, Donna knew she would have lapped up those words as validation of the self-righteous anger at Josh that she'd intentionally nursed for so long, but now she found her irritation directed at CJ. "I forget. What again was the position you promoted Carol into after all her many years of tireless, unfailingly competent service to you?"

CJ seemed stunned into silence for a moment. The point must have landed, because she didn't seem to have a ready response. Finally, she let out a breath. "Okay. New subject, I guess."

Donna suddenly felt a wave of remorse. Her conversation with CJ during the lockdown may not have exactly ended up being beneficial to her relationship with Josh, but she had given Donna a much-needed push to spread her wings professionally. Had she finally let go of blaming the things she didn't like about her life on Josh, only to start blaming them on CJ? "I'm sorry," she told her friend softly.

CJ shrugged, and the two of them turned their attention back to the coverage of the Republican convention. Finally CJ turned back to Donna. "One difference between you and Carol is that Carol wasn't staying in her job because she was madly in love with me." She paused. "Or, you know, if she was, she was a whole lot better at hiding it than you were."

"Fair enough," Donna conceded, and then smiled. "But you know what? It turned out Josh was in love with me, too."

CJ rolled her eyes. "I could have told you that."

"I wish you would have."

"What?"

"That day, during the lockdown…you said he was just keeping me around because he didn't want to have to go to the trouble of finding another good assistant."

"I said…" CJ stared at her, perplexed. "Oh, for God's sake, Donna, I didn't mean that was the _only_ reason he wanted you around! Everyone in the West Wing knew he was crazy about you. Everyone except you, apparently."

Donna flushed slightly. "Everyone knew?"

"Oh yeah."

She shook her head. "You know, really, it _would_ have simplified things if you'd have said that to me during the lockdown."

"Why?" CJ narrowed her eyes slightly. "Are you saying you wouldn't have left your job if I had?"

"No, I still would have left." Donna paused. "But instead of quitting and barely uttering another civil word to Josh for the next year, I might have…" a small smile crossed her face, "you know, quit and then asked him out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ainsley walked through the convention hall, stopping as she arrived at the door to the office. She put her hand on the knob and was about to open it when she heard the governor speaking in a loud voice. She could tell he was on the phone.

"This is unacceptable. How the hell is Baker surging like this? This election was supposed to be mine. That was the plan. That was why we did all this!"

_Did all what?_ Ainsley wondered.

"Yeah, we'll get a bounce from the convention and Ainsley, but…" he paused. "Definitely. Her speech was great. We have very good speechwriters on this campaign. And so far she's gotten a honeymoon with the press, but that's not going to last. I mean, do you really think she's going to hold up when she has to go on _Meet the Press_?" There was another pause. "I'm not saying she's stupid. She's not, necessarily, it's just…she's never run for office. She has no relevant experience whatsoever…" he paused, clearly listening to what the person on the other end of the line was saying. When he spoke again, his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Yeah, trust me, I don't think it was for her brains that Matt Santos wanted her flitting around the West Wing. The bastard obviously had a thing for blondes." He uttered a short laugh. "Let's face it, we didn't exactly choose her for her brains, either."

Ainsley felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She slowly sank down into a sitting position on the floor, shaking like a leaf. All of the governor's praise for her…all his kind words…all lies. Tears of hurt and betrayal filled her eyes. A part of her wanted to run back out to the motorcade, but she couldn't bring herself to stop eavesdropping.

"Yeah, we're launching the ads later this week…hopefully they'll do the trick. If they don't…well, there is at least one other big card to play…" he paused. "Oh yeah. By the time we're through with CJ Cregg, she'll look like the worst VP pick since Eagleton."

"Bastard," Ainsley muttered under her breath, feeling even more ill as she listened to the governor's apparent glee over the idea of smearing CJ. Not that she didn't know that was how politics worked, but even so. And the cruel words he'd spoken about her still rang in her head. How could she have misjudged Ray Sullivan so badly? She'd believed in him. Just minutes ago she'd been on cloud nine, so proud to be running on a presidential ticket with him. She'd vouched for him; that had been what she'd said in her speech. She found herself hating him bitterly, or maybe it was herself she hated, for being so naïve and gullible.

"I hope so," she heard Ray say. "I hope it'll be enough. It should be a national security election, which should go to the Republicans, but…" There was a long pause. "What?" Ray's voice rose, as if the person on the other end of the line had said something outrageous. "No. It's not going to come to that." There was a pause. "It's not. We're going to win this election, don't worry. We're not going to have to…" There were several moments of silence. "Don't you think…Come on. Don't you think if something were to happen to Eric Baker, suspicion would start to fall on me? I mean, who else would have a motive to get rid of Santos, Vinick, _and_ Baker?" Another pause. "Well, that's true, but…look, as a last resort, maybe, but we're not there yet. Not even close."

And then Ainsley couldn't sit there a second longer. She was literally going to be sick. She got up and ran down the hall, barely making it to the women's restroom and into a stall before she threw up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N:** I hope no one reading this is a Ray Sullivan fan! If so, well…sorry.


	24. Chapter 24

Ainsley sat in a small, dimly lit room at the local FBI headquarters in downtown Jacksonville, Florida, about ten minutes away from the convention hall. Her head was still spinning. It had been about two hours ago that she'd finally gotten the nerve to call the 24-hour tip line that the FBI had set up regarding the assassinations. Once she'd finally convinced the woman on the other end of the line that this wasn't a prank and she wasn't crazy or drunk, she'd been put through to a local FBI agent, who'd agreed to set up the late night meeting. It was really the only time that Ainsley would have been able to slip out for something like this without Ray or anyone else noticing that she was gone, and besides, she knew this was something that couldn't wait. She hoped that no one on the campaign would ever become aware of her middle of the night disappearance, but if she was asked about it, she planned to say she had a friend in the area who had called with a personal crisis. It was the best excuse she could come up with on such short notice.

The events of the last several hours still felt surreal. She couldn't believe she'd actually thrown up. She'd heard people talk about becoming physically ill as a response to emotional shock, but she'd always assumed it was mostly meant metaphorically. In any case, it had never actually happened to her. Then again, she'd never been in circumstances quite like this before.

She'd spent the last several hours in a state of agonizing shock, pacing around her hotel room trying to figure out what exactly she'd heard. She'd tried hard to convince herself that maybe it hadn't been what it sounded like. She'd only been hearing one side of the conversation, after all. And she'd been upset over the way Ray had insulted her, so maybe that had colored her interpretation of his words. Maybe he'd been speaking hypothetically. There had certainly been a lot of conversation from all different quarters in recent weeks about the possibility of further assassination attempts. Maybe all the governor had been saying was that, hypothetically, if something _did_ happen to Eric Baker, he was concerned that people might suspect him.

But no. She knew that hadn't been what she'd heard. She'd heard the coldness in his voice. He'd been talking about whether or not the campaign was in serious trouble. Then he'd talked about something happening to Governor Baker. Then he'd said: "…as a last resort." As desperately as she wanted to think there was some other explanation, she knew there wasn't. Ray Sullivan was associated with a white supremacist group. He'd had Matt Santos killed. He'd had Arnold Vinick, his former running mate, the man who'd put him on the national map, killed as well. Thinking about it, she suddenly felt like she might be sick all over again.

And she was also frightened. If Ray Sullivan was capable of that, he was capable of anything. And it was anyone's guess who else might be involved. She thought about Bob Mayer. The ride in the motorcade with him back to the hotel had been about the most tense and awkward five minutes of her life. She'd done her best not to look rattled, but he'd asked a couple of times whether she was okay, so she must not have succeeded. Luckily, he hadn't seemed to notice that she wasn't holding the memos that she'd gone back for. What if Bob was in on the plot? What if he told Ray that she'd seemed upset, and they figured out what had happened?

It didn't seem to quite make sense that he would have been involved, she reasoned. He'd always been primarily a Vinick person; he'd worked for Senator Vinick's primary campaign last year, long before Ray had been selected as the vice presidential nominee. Bob had always struck Ainsley as being a bit smarmy, but being smarmy didn't make a person a murderer. But it didn't matter. She couldn't trust him. She couldn't trust anyone associated with the campaign. Maybe all of them knew; maybe none of them knew. But she couldn't take any chances.

"Ms. Hayes? I'm Agent John Rice," a middle-aged man holding a file folder walked into the room.

"Hello," Ainsley shook his hand as he sat across the table from her.

"So I've read your statement about what happened this evening."

"Yes, sir."

"Why don't you summarize it for me again, in your own words? Start from the beginning."

Ainsley took a deep breath, wondering how many times she was going to have to recount this story in the coming weeks and months. "Well, we had just wrapped up the first night of the Republican convention – as you know, I suppose. I had just given my speech, and I was feeling very good. It was actually really well-received, if I do say so myself. I mean, not that I thought it wouldn't be. I was pretty confident, but I'd be lying if I said there weren't nerves. I've never done anything like that, after all. Of course, running for vice president is also something I've never done before…" her voice broke off. She had long tried to break her bad habit of rambling when she was nervous, and she supposed this was an especially bad time for that. "Anyway, after the speech, Governor Sullivan and I went into the office, and discussed some not very good poll numbers with Bob Mayer; he's our campaign manager. The governor had also given me some briefing memos to read, but I set them down and forgot about them. Bob and I headed down to the motorcade, and the governor stayed behind."

"Why?" Agent Rice interjected.

"Why what?"

"Why did Governor Sullivan stay behind?"

"He said he had some work to finish up." The agent nodded, and Ainsley continued. "Anyway, I was just getting into the motorcade when I realized I had left the memos in the office. I went back to get them, and when I did, I heard the governor talking on the phone."

"What did you hear him say?"

"Well, quite a few things. He said a number of things that upset me, actually. He said…well, he said he hadn't chosen me as VP for my brains, and that he figured Matt Santos probably hadn't wanted to hire me for my brains, either."

He nodded. "I can see why that would have upset you."

"Yes. Particularly given the fact that to my face, he's always been full of praise for me. I guess it's the old-fashioned southern girl in me, but I don't like being lied to." She paused. "But then, he and the person on the other end of the line started talking about the election. They were concerned about how close the race had become. And then…" she stopped talking for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. "the governor said that if something were to happen to Eric Baker, he thought suspicion would start to fall on him. He said – and I think these were pretty close to his exact words – he asked who else would have a motive to get rid of Matt Santos, Arnold Vinick, and Eric Baker? Then he said something about '…as a last resort.'"

"Mmm hmm," Agent Rice nodded, jotting some notes down on his notepad.

"So that's it. That's what I heard."

"Okay," he paused. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She gazed at him, trying to gauge his response.

He glanced up at her. "I have to ask. You were angry about the way he'd insulted you. It's perfectly natural; anyone would be. You perhaps were even having second thoughts about having joined the campaign. And to top it off, a reward has just been announced for information-"

"You think I'm doing this for _reward money_?" Ainsley's voice rose in indignation.

He held up a hand. "I don't think that. I believe you. I wouldn't have come down to the office at 3am to meet with you if I didn't think you were serious. But you know these kinds of questions are going to come up, and you have to be ready for them." He paused. "Did anyone else overhear the conversation, that you know of?"

"No." Her Secret Service agents had been accompanying her as they always did, but the building was already thoroughly enough secured that they had been standing at the end of the hall. Even if they could be compelled to testify, they wouldn't have been nearly close enough to have overheard anything.

"Do you know what phone he used to place the call? A landline? Cell phone?"

"I don't know. He has a BlackBerry that the campaign pays for. He also has a personal cell phone – a PDA type of phone, from what I can tell, but I'm not sure what brand. I've never actually gotten a good look at it. I would guess that was probably the phone he was using." She paused. "Do you think we'd be able to get a warrant to search his phone? Subpoena the records from his phone company?"

The agent shook his head. "We don't have enough for a warrant."

"He confessed to two assassinations."

"No, he didn't."

"Yes he did. He said-"

"He said that _if_ something happened to Eric Baker, he thought people might suspect him."

"He also said who else would have a motive to-"

"That's not an admission of guilt. You can be innocent of a crime and still be concerned that people might suspect you."

Ainsley closed her eyes. As a lawyer, of course, she knew he was right, but she couldn't quite bring herself to accept it. She continued to argue: "And then he said, 'only as a last resort.'"

"Maybe he was talking about something else. You were only hearing one side of the conversation, a fact that certainly wouldn't be lost on any judge we might bring this to."

"I know what I heard."

Agent Rice shook his head. "Look, this is Ray Sullivan we're talking about: a governor, a candidate for the presidency, and one of the highest-profile people in the country. No judge is going to risk his or her career approving a warrant on flimsy legal grounds." He sighed. "And I don't know what kind of connections Sullivan might have, but I wouldn't want to take the chance of him finding we even tried to get a warrant. I don't want him knowing we suspect him until we have something solid. He's already slipped up once, having a conversation like that when there was a possibility that he could be overheard. Maybe he'll make more mistakes, but not if he knows we're investigating him."

Ainsley stared at the agent, trying to tamp down her frustration. "So what do we do?"

"I'll file your report, and then we'll be exploring our options as far as the next step in the investigation. We can probably get permission from the convention hall to examine their phone records, on the off chance he was using their phone. Unlikely, but you never know. And of course, I'll be in touch with the Secret Service about beefing up Governor Baker's detail. But beyond that, I don't know-"

"He's a killer. He's had two people murdered so far, and earlier tonight he was talking about killing a third as if it was nothing more than a…a campaign strategy. He can't be allowed to get away with this."

"I agree. But until I have some evidence that will hold up in court…" His voice trailed off, and he began thumbing through the papers in the folder.

Ainsley was quiet for a long moment. "I'll get you some."

"What?"

"I'll get you some evidence. I'll stay with the campaign. I'll wear a wire. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll dig around until I can find something incriminating."

The agent shook his head. "We can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking."

"We don't involve civilians in undercover investigations."

"It's the only way," she insisted, energy building in her voice. "I'm in. I have inside access. He trusts me. He chose me to be Vice President."

"Ms. Hayes-"

"Something has to be done, or this man may well become the next President of the United States. A white supremacist and an assassin." Ainsley's eyes flashed with intensity. "I don't need your permission, Agent Rice. I'm going to do this."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "I'm not going to talk you out of it, am I?"

"Respectfully, no, sir."

"Okay, then," he sighed. "Tell me, do you have an assistant on the campaign?"

"An assistant? Not as such. No, I mean."

"You do now. Or you will, once we find you one."

"I'm sorry?"

"If you're going to do this, you're going to have an FBI agent with you. They'll be undercover with you as your assistant."

"I already have Secret Service protection."

"And that won't change. They'll still be responsible for your security. They'll be notified of this situation so that they can protect you properly. The role of the undercover agent will be to help build the case."

The plan had sounded so good in theory, but as the reality began to sink in, Ainsley suddenly started to feel dizzy. Would she really be able to pull this off? She didn't have any training as an actress. People would be able to figure it out, wouldn't they? Ray Sullivan would know something was wrong, and what would happen then?

"You know you don't have to do this," Agent Rice emphasized, clearly sensing her anxiety.

There was so much that could go wrong with it, but the alternative was too awful to contemplate. She met the agent's eyes. "Yes, I do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Sir, can we talk about what just happened?" CJ stood in front of President Sellner's desk in the Oval Office. Ray Sullivan's convention speech would be starting in about twenty minutes. She'd called Sam earlier to let him know she wouldn't be able to watch it at the campaign headquarters with him, and Donna had volunteered to come to the White House to watch it with CJ there. She was waiting in the lobby. But now all of a sudden, things seemed to have gotten sticky.

"What do you mean?"

"Why was I asked to leave the room?"

He shrugged, glancing away. "Some things are…what's the term you guys use? Close hold?"

CJ's eyes narrowed. "Not from me. Sir, I'm your Chief of Staff. Either I have your complete confidence or I don't. There's no middle ground."

"You do."

"Then why did you send me out of the Situation Room?"

"I didn't. Jill Brent did."

"You're the President, sir. You do get the final say on these things."

"I trusted her judgment. I figured she had a reason, which she did."

She gave him a quizzical look. "I don't suppose you're going to-"

He sighed. "What I'll tell you is that there's been a development in the assassination investigations, and it's something that could have implications for the presidential campaign."

She stared at him, stunned. "Mr. President, you can't possibly think that I'd ever in a million years divulge any information I learned in that room to a political campaign."

"I don't. Believe me, I don't. It's just…" he sighed. "Agent Brent's concern, and I think she's right, is that if and when this becomes public, questions will inevitably be asked. The fact that you were running for Vice President with Governor Baker…trust me, it'll just be a lot better for everyone, including you, if we can say you weren't told about it, rather than having to explain that you were told but really, truly, didn't use the information in any way."

CJ met his gaze, only partially satisfied. "Is this going to be a problem, sir? My serving as your Chief of Staff and being a part of the campaign?"

"I already told you it wasn't."

"In light of these new developments?"

"It's fine."

"Because, look, I know it would be difficult if I resigned. You'd have to get another Chief of Staff up to speed, which frankly really can't be done in the few months you have left in office. But you could appoint Will, or even Cliff if you were comfortable with a Republican in that position, and I'd be available to them by phone for whatever they might need. You could make it work."

"I don't want you to resign, CJ. I value your expertise. I need it on a wide range of issues. I just need you to sit out this one thing, that's all."

CJ paused for a moment. She still wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation, but it wasn't her decision to make. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, CJ."

She began leave, but then turned back to him. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"This…whatever it is. It's big, isn't it?"

He didn't say anything, but the look on his face was enough to answer her question.

"Thank you, Mr. President," she turned and walked out of the Oval Office, heading down the hall to the lobby to meet Donna.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Is it me, or is the security tighter around here?" Josh asked Sam as they walked together down the hall of the Baker campaign headquarters. They were going to be watching Ray Sullivan's convention speech together, and then Josh had offered to help Sam put together a response. He'd already had his ID checked several times, despite the fact that the governor wasn't even at the headquarters. The overall mood seemed to be tenser than usual.

"Yeah, they added some agents today."

"Why?" Josh's eyes narrowed.

"Not sure. Something about some threats." Sam caught the look on Josh's face, and shook his head. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"The Secret Service obviously doesn't think it's nothing."

"Just an overall heightened sense of paranoia, I guess," Sam shrugged. He opened a small mini-fridge. "Beer?"

"Thanks." Josh took the bottle Sam handed him. "Where's Donna?"

"At the White House. CJ couldn't get away, so she and Donna are watching the speech there. The governor and Mrs. Baker decided to watch it at home. You know, where they can hit the mute button if they find themselves fighting the temptation to throw things at the television."

Josh chuckled slightly and sat down on a sofa. "You guys are heading to Ohio tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Ohio, then an event in Virginia, and then Michigan for our convention next week."

Josh shook his head. The presidential campaigns really were in full swing, something that seemed unreal. These campaigns were only supposed to happen every four years. It seemed impossible that this time a year ago, Matt Santos was a distant underdog for the Democratic presidential nomination. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, Josh realized, feeling a slight pang in his heart.

"You can come with us if you want, of course," Sam offered. "As a guest, I mean. I know you might want to spend time with Donna."

"No. That's okay."

"Everything alright with you guys?" Sam asked. He'd picked up on the fact that there had been some tension lately between Josh and Donna, which he supposed had undoubtedly had been building for awhile. He wasn't completely clear on all the details of what had happened between them over the past few years. He knew that Donna had quit her job very abruptly, and that Josh had been hurt and confused by her actions. Not that he'd actually said so in quite so many words, of course, but during the Santos campaign he would call Sam in California every once in awhile and, depending on his mood, either rant about how someone could be so irresponsible as to leave a job without notice, and how could she be working for a stuffed shirt like Bingo Bob, anyway, or beat himself up and expound on all the reasons why he'd deserved for her to leave, or else insist entirely unconvincingly that it didn't matter and he had no interest in what Donna Moss did or why.

"Yeah," Josh nodded. "They are, actually. We had a pretty good talk a few days ago."

"Good." He paused. "So you're not mad at her anymore?"

"I was never mad at her."

"You were mad at her for quitting the way she did. I mean, you were pretty much just waiting for her to walk out on you again, weren't you?" It was more direct than Sam had planned on being. He knew Josh desperately needed Donna in his life, and he didn't really want to risk stirring things up and causing problems. But he also knew that his friend had a tendency keep things bottled up until they exploded.

"She explained that. She said she'd gotten too attached to me, and she wanted a better career, which I didn't help her with, and I should have. It was my fault, really. I should have called her after she quit. Turned out that was actually what she wanted me to do."

"Women like it when guys call them. Who'd have thunk?"

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed. "Anyway, we worked it out. For now. I mean, as long as I can avoid screwing up again…"

"As long as you can avoid screwing up again?"

"Yeah."

Sam shook his head. "I don't believe it. You _still_ think she's going to dump you, don't you?"

"No. Not really. I mean, yeah, there's the fact that every other woman I've ever dated has dumped me, which is quite a streak, I have to say, but hey – it's gotta end sometime, right?"

"Every woman you've ever dated has dumped you?" Sam gave him a dubious look.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You were never the one to dump any of them?"

"I don't think – wait, Lindsay in the 10th grade. No, she dumped me, too. Her mom said she couldn't see me anymore. I think they were Republicans. So yeah, the streak's intact. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"No. I guess when I think about it, it actually makes sense."

"Thanks!"

"That's not what I meant!" Sam shook his head. "I mean, given how you are. Loyal, I mean."

"Yeah. I guess it's the whole 'not leaving people' thing that Donna talks about. She says it like it's a good thing, but I'm not sure it always is. I mean, look at the whole on-again, off-again thing with Amy. I think we both knew it wasn't going anywhere. She didn't want to define it, and neither did I for the most part. I tried to broach the subject once, and she pretty much ignored me. But if she wanted me, I was always there. It stayed that way until she finally met the lumberjack and ditched me for good."

"That doesn't mean it's going to be that way with Donna," Sam told him quietly.

"I know. I guess it's just my stubborn, egocentric nature, or something, but..." Josh was quiet for a moment. "It's just that I would never have done what she did. Not ever. I can't even picture it. I mean, walking up to her at the end of the day and saying, 'Hey, Donna, I just handed my resignation to the President. Today's my last day. So, I guess I'll see you around. Or, you know, not.'" He shook his head. "Before she left, I was already thinking of trying to get Santos to run, which I knew might involve leaving to work on his campaign. I hadn't decided yet if I was going to do it, but if I had, there wouldn't even have been a question – I was going to ask her to come with me. I knew she might not have said yes – I mean, let's face it, not everyone can afford to pick up and go work for an insurgency presidential campaign for no salary. Although she did do it once before, and hey, this time she would even have had a more expensive car to sell, but…" his voice broke off momentarily. "Never mind. I'm just rambling."

"It doesn't mean she doesn't care about you as much as you care about her."

"It doesn't?"

"No. It just means you're two different people. You deal with things differently."

"I guess."

"I mean, come on, this is Donna we're talking about. She's crazy about you. Anyone who knows her at all knows that much. It was just that she needed to be out on her own for awhile. She needed to gain some independence. And granted, she probably could have communicated that to you better, but it doesn't mean she doesn't love you." Sam glanced at Josh. "At some point you're just going to have to decide to trust that."

"I know."

"Good." He paused. "Nothing like relationship advice from a guy with two failed engagements under his belt, right?"

"Hey, I've never made it as far as an engagement, so I don't think I can complain."

They turned their attention to the television. Ray Sullivan's wife, Janice Sullivan, was on the stage introducing the governor. _"Everyone, please give a warm welcome to my husband, a wonderful man, a fantastic governor, and the next President of the United States, Ray Sullivan!"_

"Drinking game?" Sam smirked slightly at Josh.

"One drink for every mention of the words 'freedom', 'strength', 'security', or 'American values," Josh responded.

"Or tax cuts. Or 'war on terror.'"

"Any reference to anything being 'sclerotic', we finish our beers."

Sam laughed. Josh sat back on the sofa, taking a deep breath and silently vowing not to let himself get too worked up by whatever it was the West Virginia governor was about to spout.

Ray was barely through his initial thank-you's to the party and the crowd when Josh's phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize.

"Josh Lyman," he answered the phone, getting up and stepping out of the room.

"Mr. Lyman, hello. My name is David Kline. I'm a rabbi at Temple Sinai in Palm Beach, Florida."

Josh recognized the name instantly as his mother's temple. He found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. He could only think of one reason why his mother's rabbi might be calling him.

"What happened?" he managed to get out.

"Happened?"

"My mom. Is she okay?"

"What? Oh yes, yes, I'm sorry. That's not why I'm calling."

"Oh." Josh's breathing returned to normal. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Lyman-"

"Josh."

"Yes. First of all I'd like to express my sympathies. I'm sure this has been a difficult time for you."

"Thank you."

"Mr. Lyman, the reason I'm calling is that my temple is planning a large community event for Holocaust Remembrance Day this April. There will be workshops, exhibits, lectures, that sort of thing. We're still in the planning stages, but we want it to be something special. I was hoping – and I realize this may be a long shot, but we would be honored if you would consider attending as our keynote speaker."

"Me?" There was a note of confusion in Josh's voice. "Why?"

"Your mother has told me about what happened to your grandfather at Birkenau, Josh. I assume he must have told you stories about it when you were a child and teenager."

"Yeah," Josh cleared his throat. "Yeah, of course, but-"

"You were shot and nearly killed by white supremacists. Your assistant at the White House was the victim of a terrorist attack in Gaza. And after what happened to the President-Elect, at the hands, it appears, of the same group that shot you…" he paused for a moment. "Let's just say I think you've dealt with hate in a way that not many people have."

"I…" Josh's mouth was dry. "I don't really know what you think I'd be able to say. I mean, yeah, no doubt – a lot of crap has happened to me and to people around me. A lot of crap. But I just don't think I have any special insight…I don't know why these people do the things they do. I don't know what to do about it. I just don't know what I could tell you guys that you don't already know."

"A lot of people think hate groups are dead, Josh. They think they're just a relic of an earlier time, and they don't really exist anymore."

"Anyone who thought that, don't you think the events of the last month have probably disabused them of that notion?"

"Maybe. But listen, Josh. I know a person can't go through the things you have without gaining a perspective that can't be obtained any other way. That's what I'd like to have you share with us." He paused. "Will you do it?"

"I'm not actually very religious, Rabbi," Josh confessed. "My mom is, I know. She goes to temple every week, but truthfully, I haven't been a regular attender since I was a teenager. I can't say that I'd have much to offer in the realm of spiritual…you know."

"We're not inviting you as a theologian. Just someone with a story to share. I hope you'll consider it."

"Well…" Josh paused. "Okay. Sure. I'll think about it."

"Excellent."

"Can I get back to you with my answer, maybe next week?"

"Of course."

Josh hung up the phone and walked slowly back into the room, where Ray Sullivan was in the midst of what Josh could tell even from about a sentence was exactly the kind of right wing red meat speech he and Sam had anticipated.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, glancing over at him as he sat down.

"Yeah," Josh responded slowly, his mind swimming.

The speech ended. Governor Sullivan's wife came back on the stage to greet him, as did his two adult children. Then Ainsley was introduced, and walked out on the stage as well. Josh and Sam both noticed that her smile seemed strangely forced as she and Ray Sullivan clasped their hands together in the air in a traditional victory pose.

"Must be fun running against her," Josh commented as his friend stared at the television, appearing suddenly transfixed.

"Yeah," Sam nodded absently, his eyes still on the pretty blonde woman on the television.


	25. Chapter 25

_"A major national security leak at the Bartlet White House. Senior staffer Toby Ziegler is indicted. He faced years of jail time until he was quietly pardoned in the last hours of the Bartlet administration. Ziegler wasn't authorized to have the information he leaked, so who told him? White House Chief of Staff Claudia Jean Cregg had close ties to Greg Brock, the reporter who broke the story. What was her involvement? Did she feed the story to Ziegler? Why won't she answer these questions? And what does it say about Eric Baker's judgment that, with so many question marks, he would choose to put this woman a heartbeat away from the presidency in times as dangerous as these?_

Ainsley tried to look pleased as she sat in the hotel conference room and watched the attack ad, which featured a female narrator intoning the script in an urgent, slightly frightened voice while news footage of the shuttle leak story ran on the screen. The campaign was still in Florida, making a few more appearances before moving on to the next stop in North Carolina.

_"I'm Ray Sullivan, and I approved this ad, because nothing is more important to me than this nation's security." _The ad concluded_._

"Brilliant," Ray smiled confidently. "Usually you put that at the beginning of an attack ad, but in this case it's really just the cherry on top, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," Ainsley managed a smile.

"You feeling better?" He gave her a concerned look.

"A little." With little confidence in her ability to act as if nothing was wrong, she'd told everyone that she thought she was coming down with the flu. Not only did it provide an explanation for her change in mood, but it also gave her an excuse for spending as much time as possible away from everyone on the campaign, fear of contagion and all. She'd spent most of her time the past day and a half in her hotel room, spending hours on the phone with the FBI as they made preparations for the undercover operation. She'd made a brief appearance with Ray Sullivan at the convention hall last night, but other than that, this meeting represented the first extended period of time she'd spent with the campaign staff. And that was only because she was going to be introducing them to the agent who would be posing as her assistant.

"Hey, Ainsley." She turned as a tall man in his early forties, somewhat good looking with dark blond hair, walked up to her. Although it was her first time meeting him in person, she knew instantly who he was. _Here we go,_ she thought.

"Hi Mark." She got up and gave him a hug. "It's been a long time. And I just realized I probably shouldn't be hugging you. I don't want to give you this awful bug I've come down with, but-"

"For you, I'll risk it," he smiled, taking a seat at the conference table. "So tell me where to start. I'm at your service. Put me to work."

"My calendar," Ainsley handed him a manila folder. "I like my calendar to be color-coded. So much easier to read. Do you think you could take care of that for me?"

"Color-coded calendar. No problem."

Ray glanced between the two of them, confused. "Who's this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ainsley forced a smile. "This is Mark Brigshaw. He's my new assistant."

"Assistant?" Ray frowned. "New hires have to be approved by our financial people. You know how tight money is on this campaign."

"Oh, yes, I know. Mark's volunteering."

"Full-time?" Ray gave Mark a dubious look.

"Looking to break into politics," Mark responded with a shrug.

"And you don't need a salary?"

"Nope. Won the lottery," he responded lightheartedly, in a manner that was meant to leave Ray wondering whether or not he was serious.

Ray still looked skeptical. "How'd you two meet? I mean, how'd you end up…hiring him?"

"He was an old high school classmate of mine who I got back in touch with," Ainsley repeated the story they'd agreed upon.

"Anyway," Bob Mayer cut in, standing at the other end of the room. "We drop these ads on Thursday. They should be the focus of the Sunday talk shows, and hopefully they'll at least somewhat overshadow the Dem convention next week. And we're going to be working this line of attack into all our campaign events, too. Ainsley, as the vice presidential candidate, that's going to be your role." He looked at her carefully.

"Yes, I know. Happy to do it." She glanced at Ray out of the corner of her eye. He seemed pleased by her acquiescence to the plan. She got up from her seat. "Anyway, I'm going to go back up to my room. I think I need to get some rest."

"Okay," Ray patted her on the arm. "Take care of yourself."

She nodded and left the meeting, heading back up to her room. About ten minutes later, there was a knock at her door.

"You better be sure no one saw you," she teased as Mark walked into the room. "This could look positively seedy…me going up to my room, you surreptitiously following a few minutes later…"

"Well, unless you have a better idea…"

"Not really." She paused. "So listen, David-"

"Call me Mark."

"Right." Even though only just met him, he'd been introduced to her over the phone by his real name, David Johansen, and she was still having some trouble making the switch in her mind.

"You have to get used to calling me Mark. Anyone from the campaign hears you calling me anything else, it could blow the whole cover."

"I know." She paused. "Anyway, Mark, I was going to ask what exactly the plan is. I mean, do we know yet? How is all this going to work?"

"Well, I have this for you." He pulled out a tiny black device with a small clip attached to it. "Wireless recording device. Very discreet and very sensitive. You can wear it under your clothes and no one will ever know it's there. I'll be wearing one, too."

"That's not it, is it?" Ainsley demanded. "I mean, we have to do more than just loiter around the campaign, hoping to catch another incriminating conversation. I don't exactly know what the odds of that happening would be, but…" she paused, thinking. "We'll need more of a strategy than that, won't we?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"And do we have one?"

"I have the beginnings of one."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You really didn't have to come over just to keep me company," Josh remarked to Charlie. With both Sam and Donna in Ohio with the Baker campaign, Charlie had come over to Josh's apartment. They had ordered a pizza and were watching television, though Josh had been more than a little distracted most of the evening. Rabbi Kline's offer had been kicking around in his head since the previous night. It sounded like a great opportunity: a worthy cause, something productive to put his energy into. Two months ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about doing it. But something inside him was resisting the idea, and he couldn't put into words exactly what it was.

"You really think I'd come here out of obligation?" Charlie responded to Josh's comment.

"Well, I mean, I figure Zoey's probably somewhat more appealing company than yours truly."

"I'm with her almost every day. She can get along without me for an evening." He paused. "Besides, she's mad at me."

Josh glanced at him. "What for?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. We kinda had an argument the other day. Over nothing, really. Nothing and everything, I guess."

"Is the FBI still worried about…"

"Actually, no. They told me the other day they no longer think I'm a target. I mean, they're still advising caution, given the fact that, well, it's West Virginia White Pride, but they're not as worried as they were."

"That's a relief," Josh commented, though inwardly the wheels in his head were spinning. Security had been heightened at the Baker campaign, while Charlie had been given a tentative all-clear. Obviously there had been some kind of break in the investigation. He just wished he knew what it was.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, it is, but still…all this has taken a toll on her, you know? I think she thought once her dad left office, she could go back to living a normal life. I mean, usually adult kids of former Presidents don't even have Secret Service, but she's had to keep her detail for obvious reasons." He was quiet for a moment. "And I know it's been hard for her to really feel safe since…you know. So this just makes it worse."

Josh nodded. "Well, you guys will work it out. You always do."

They turned their attention to the television, where Dateline was just beginning.

_"Today, we have a segment for you that is sure to generate discussion and, perhaps, controversy,"_ the anchor began. _"Sandra Kelsey, wife of Tom Kelsey, the former employee of the Secret Service who has confessed to involvement in the assassination of President-Elect Matthew Santos, is here in the studio with us. Who is she? What did she know about her husband's criminal activity, and what does she think of it now? What about the couple's two children, ages five and nine?"_

"I don't believe this," Josh muttered, his eyes not moving from the television. "They're giving this woman a forum to spout her…what's wrong with them? This is exactly what these people want: publicity and exposure, and they're getting it." Anger began to build in his voice. _Two children, five and nine._ The same ages as the Santos children, Josh couldn't help but think.

"I think there's a game on," Charlie suggested with a shrug, reaching for the remote.

"No," Josh said flatly. As disgusted as he was, somehow he couldn't bring himself to turn away from the television.

"Mrs. Kelsey," the interviewer began, "Did you know your husband had participated in the assassination of the President-Elect before he was arrested for the crime?"

"Of course not," she answered calmly.

"Why do you say 'of course not'?"

"Tom would never have told me such a thing. He protects me. If he'd told me what he was going to do, and the police found out I knew about it, I might have been in trouble, too. He wouldn't have wanted that. He needs me to take care of the children."

"Did you know he was a member of West Virginia White Pride?"

"You say 'member' like it's some kind of club, that hands out little wallet cards or something. Card-carrying member and all that…"

"Cards aside, did you know he had ties to West Virginia White Pride?"

"Yes. We both do."

"And the ideology of that organization is…"

"You know very well what it is."

"Why don't you tell us?"

"It's an ideology that will not allow a brown border jumper like that Santos creature to usurp the presidency of the United States, I can tell you that much."

"You say usurp. He was duly elected-"

"He wasn't a citizen. He was an illegal alien."

"He was born in San Antonio, Texas."

"So he claimed."

"You have evidence to the contrary?"

"Come on. None of those Mexicans are here legally, everyone knows that. I mean, he said – in that debate, he even admitted he had members of his family who were illegals. If he was such an American, why didn't he turn them in to immigration? My husband did what he had to do to save this country. He's a hero."

"You really believe he's a hero for carrying out an assassination?"

"Absolutely. Keeping that socialist, communist, baby-killing, Mexican border jumper from moving into the Oval Office? Every American owes him a debt of gratitude. He's a patriot."

"These views – your attitude toward minorities – is that what you and your husband teach your children?"

"That's exactly what we teach them. And I want to know why your network is censoring their voices. Your producers wouldn't let me bring them here for the interview and let them speak their minds."

"We felt it would be exploitive, given their age-"

"Bull hockey!" she snapped. "You have children their age and younger on this show all the time. You're discriminating against them because they hold views that aren't politically correct in this pathetic excuse for polite society we have in our country now. But these are them right here." She reached into a handbag and pulled out an 8x10 photo of two young children. "Tom, Jr. and Rebecca. Look at them. They are the future of this movement. They are going to help lead this nation out of the cesspool it's currently mired in."

Josh stared numbly at the photo. They looked so innocent. The girl, obviously the younger of the two, had straight blond hair clipped back in pink barrettes, and a sweet, charming smile. The boy had brown hair that was barely visible underneath a backward baseball cap. They looked for all the world like two average young schoolchildren.

_They are the future of this movement,_ their mother's words echoed in Josh's mind. The worst part was that he knew she was probably right. He imagined those two children, in fifteen or twenty years' time, attending white supremacist meetings and plotting acts of violence. The thought made him ill.

He must have looked as stricken as he felt, because Charlie glanced over at him. "You okay?"

Josh's face didn't move as he stared at Sandra Kelsey. "Sub-human pieces of crap."

"That's for sure," Charlie agreed, though without the level of intensity that Josh had in his voice.

"I mean, how do people get like that?" Josh demanded. "How do they get to hate so much that they're willing to kill people, willing to _brag_ about killing them, just because of the color of their skin or where their ancestors are from?"

"I don't know," Charlie paused for a moment before continuing. "I once worked at a country club that wouldn't have had me as a member because of my race. Just about the most humiliating experience of my life, but it paid well, and we really needed the money. I've been pulled over for no reason I could see other than the fact that I'm black. I work for the President of the United States, but when I go to a nice restaurant wearing a suit, I sometimes get mistaken for a waiter or a valet. So yeah, I've seen plenty of racism. But still, until I started dating Zoey…" he paused. "The Secret Service showed me a few of the death threats. They usually don't like to do that, because they want us to be able to sleep at night, but I guess they didn't think I was taking the situation seriously enough. I'd never seen anything like it. Not in modern times, definitely not directed at me. I guess somehow I'd wanted to think that kind of blatant, blinding-hatred brand of racism was mostly a thing of the past in this country, but it's not. I don't know if it ever will be."

Josh looked back at the television, where Sandra Kelsey was still engaged in an impassioned defense of her twisted worldview. "Do you think some people are just born that way?" he finally asked, his voice low and flat. "Born evil, born wanting to hate, wanting to kill, even?" It was a notion he'd never even entertained before, and it was diametrically at odds with almost everything else he believed; but all of a sudden, given the state of the world, it seemed like an almost unavoidable conclusion.

"No," Charlie looked at him in surprise. "Do you?"

"I don't know."

"Those kids…" Charlie gestured to the photo of the Kelsey children, which their mother was still holding up for the television audience, "If they grow up to be active racists, it won't be because they were born that way. It'll be because of what they were taught growing up."

"They can reject what they're taught. Part of becoming an adult is learning to think for yourself. If those kids don't do that, if they grow up to be just like their parents, it'll be their own damn fault."

"I know. You're right. And I don't know how people get to be like that," Charlie answered. "The assassins who shot Santos and Vinick, the shooters at Rosslyn – I wish I knew, but I don't." He paused. "But they weren't born wanting to do that. A wise man once told us that, remember?"

Josh didn't nod, although he remembered that speech of President Bartlet's well. He wasn't sure what he thought, but he was now sure of one thing: he couldn't do the speech.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** I suppose I should warn that there is some disturbing dialogue and subject matter in this chapter. Then again, I guess that's true of much of the story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I can't believe people are swallowing these ads. I mean, just how gullible and uninformed _is_ the average voter, anyway?" Donna grumbled in aggravation. She, Governor Baker, Ronna, Sam, and CJ were in a meeting room at the convention hall in Detroit, Michigan. CJ would be speaking that evening, followed by Governor Baker the next day. The attack ads against CJ from the Sullivan campaign had begun airing four days ago, and they'd been the central focus of attention for political pundits and cable news ever since.

Donna had sometimes thought of Josh as an elitist for occasionally expressing a low opinion of the collective wisdom of the voters, but now she was starting to think maybe he'd been right all along. The shuttle leak scandal had dominated the news for months at the time it had happened, and nothing had been found to implicate CJ in any wrongdoing, but still, all it took was a 30-second attack ad to turn a significant percentage of the voters against her.

"We had a ten-point bounce. We've given back seven." Sam stared at the sheet of polling numbers in front of him. "It's probably not just the ads. It's also the Republican convention – and besides, we knew we weren't going to keep that 10-point bounce no matter what. Bounces come down. But even still…"

"I told you the shuttle leak thing would be a problem," CJ reminded them. "You know, it's not too late. If having me on the ticket is going to be too problematic, all I would have to tell the media is that, after much consideration, I've realized I can't properly serve the President and thus the country if I'm trying to balance these two different roles." _Which has the added benefit of being kind of true,_ she added silently. Despite President Sellner's reassurances, she was still disturbed by the fact that there were things – important things, obviously – going on at the White House that she wasn't privy to. Leo had been intimately involved in every aspect of the Bartlet administration. It had been that way during her time as President Bartlet's Chief of Staff, too. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Or did each President simply run his administration in his own way, looking to whomever he felt most comfortable with for counsel?

"Absolutely not," Sam shook his head. "Believe me, they'd find a way to attack anyone we picked. This is entirely to be expected."

"I don't understand it," Ronna puzzled. "We go up ten points one week because of a VP pick and because of the governor's interview, then drop seven because the Republicans had their convention and ran some attack ads. I mean…are people really that indecisive? The differences between Eric Baker and Ray Sullivan are…well, they're like night and day. How can that many people really be so on the fence that any little thing can push them, at least temporarily, into one camp or the other?"

"I've spent an entire political career wondering about just that," Sam responded.

"Well, we're about to get our own convention bounce," Governor Baker reminded them. "Our numbers will go back up after this week. Then we have the debates, and not to toot my own horn, but I'm a pretty good debater. At least that was what Pennsylvania voters thought after every one of my gubernatorial debates."

"Presidential debates are a whole different ballgame," CJ cautioned. "Ray Sullivan's an excellent debater too."

"He got trounced by Leo last year," Ronna pointed out.

"Partly because Leo played the expectations game so brilliantly, but yeah," CJ acknowledged. "Sullivan got overconfident, but I wouldn't count on that happening again. And we'd better make sure it doesn't happen to us," she added, glancing at Eric.

"We just have to stay on message," Sam insisted. "Our response to the ad is that it represents a smear campaign born out of desperation. The Sullivan campaign saw the polls moving in our direction and panicked."

"Sullivan camp in disarray," Donna added for emphasis.

Sam turned and looked at the group of them. "Two months and six days," he emphasized. "That's how long we have to win this election."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So what high school did you and Ainsley go to?" Ray asked Mark. They were at the Sullivan campaign headquarters in DC. With the Democratic convention being held that week, there would be little point in the campaign trying to compete for headlines by going on the road, so they were using the time to hone their strategy for the remainder of the campaign.

"Hillcrest High in Raleigh, North Carolina," Mark responded, feeling a twinge of anxiety. He was pretty sure all the bases were covered. Ainsley's high school had been contacted by the FBI and instructed to confirm that Mark had been a student there, should the Sullivan campaign or anyone else check his story. But he couldn't allow Ray to become suspicious of him if this undercover operation was to be a success.

"You don't have an accent."

"My family moved there from Ohio my senior year."

"You and Ainsley. Were you ever…" Ray eyed him. "You know, more than friends?"

"What? Oh, no." he shook his head. "I mean, she was always a beautiful girl, but…we were just friends."

"That's a shame," Ray chuckled lightly.

"Yeah. Trust me, it wasn't for want of trying on my part. Don't tell her I said that."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"So what made you decide to get into politics?" Ray asked.

Mark's glanced curiously at him. "What is this, an interview? Ainsley already hired me."

"I do outrank her," Ray reminded him. At first, the serious look on his face alarmed Mark. If Ray kicked him off the campaign…well, he couldn't let that happen. But then Ray laughed. "No, it's not an interview. If Ainsley wants you as her assistant, so long as we don't have to pay you, that's fine with me."

"Well, to answer your question, I've always been interested in politics. I'd thought off and on for a long time about trying to make a career of it. But I have to say, what made me want to work full-time for no pay for this campaign was you, governor," Mark looked at him intently. He realized this might be an ideal opportunity to begin putting his plan into action. "We need you - I need you - to win this election. This country needs you as President."

"Thank you," Ray looked pleased.

"I mean, you're tough, you're patriotic, and you're not afraid to protect the United States of America. Your values…well, your values are real American values, you know?" He paused, choosing his next words carefully, trying to figure out how to open this line of conversation without going too far. "Shame it took a few bullets to undo the travesty of last November, you know?"

Ray glanced at him, looking mildly surprised.

"Of course, I'd never say anything like that in public," Mark added quickly. "But it's true. If it weren't for that nuclear reactor accident and the fact that Americans were scared shitless of being called racist if they didn't vote for the minority candidate, that Santos character would have been wiped out in a landslide." He paused, deciding to backtrack slightly. "I hope I'm not offending you."

"No, not at all." A smile formed on Ray's face. "I completely agree. Without his brown skin, Matt Santos would never have been elected dog catcher, let alone President."

"I swear, being a heterosexual white male has practically become a crime in this country," Mark added, allowing the intensity to build in his voice. "We're supposed to be ashamed of our race. Feel guilty for being born with white skin, that's what the liberal academic elites tell us. Blacks, Mexicans, Asians – they're all allowed to have pride in their race. Just about every college campus in the country has a Black Student Union. Could you imagine if you tried to form a White Student Union? You'd be run out of town."

"Amen, brother."

"It's good to have someone who understands," Mark continued. "Most people don't. I generally get called a racist when I say stuff like that. I'm not a racist. I just think – you know, I just think people should stay with their own kind. None of this…mixing. But I'm not ashamed to say I sure as hell don't want one of those people in the White House. Not now, not ever." He paused. "Ainsley understands. She's pretty shy about saying things like that to people, but she gets it. But other than her…"

"Trust me, there are plenty of likeminded individuals out there. You just have to know where to look." Ray looked at him, an enigmatic expression on his face.

"What do you mean?"

Ray paused for a moment, as if considering how much to tell him. Finally he shrugged. "Nothing."

"Right," Mark nodded. "Anyway, Ainsley asked me to make a doughnut run, so I'd better get going. I swear that woman can't function if she goes more than half an hour without sugar."

"I've noticed that," Ray grinned. Then his expression turned serious. "Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Seriously, what you just said – now that you're on a presidential campaign, you really do have to be more careful. You can't go around talking like that. I get you, but not everyone will, and it could really cause some serious trouble if the wrong person were to hear it."

"Of course. I understand."

"Good."

Mark excused himself and walked out of the campaign headquarters, heading down the street toward the doughnut shop. That had gone very well, he thought. Ray had been much less cautious than he'd expected; he'd actually come close to telling Mark about West Virginia White Pride.

Still, he felt like he needed a shower. It had been harder than he had anticipated to say those kinds of things out loud, let alone do so convincingly. He'd done undercover assignments before, but nothing like this. And he'd hated even more claiming that Ainsley shared his views, but that had been what he and Ainsley had agreed on. They wanted Ray to feel he could talk about his white supremacist views with Ainsley as well as Mark.

In the back of his mind, Mark was aware that he already had enough conversation recorded to ruin Ray's presidential ambitions if he released it to the media. But that wasn't his role, he reminded himself. This was a criminal investigation, no more, no less, and being a racist wasn't against the law. His job was to collect enough evidence to charge Ray Sullivan with murder.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I can't do the speech," Josh flatly informed Rabbi David Kline over the phone. He was sitting on the sofa at his apartment, fiddling absentmindedly with a pen that was in his hand. He realized he'd actually been nervous about making this call. He didn't know why; he'd turned down dozens of speaking engagements in his career without a second thought. But somehow this felt different.

"I understand," the rabbi answered quickly. "I knew it was a long shot, getting someone of your stature. I just thought I'd give it a try."

"It's not that."

"I just meant I know you're very busy."

"Not really. Not these days." Josh sighed. "Look, the bottom line is I can't do the speech because I don't think anyone would want to hear what I have to say."

There was a confused silence on the other end of the line. "I don't follow."

"Look, I don't know what you're expecting…" Josh tried to put his thoughts together. "Whatever you're imagining I'd say in this speech, I assume at least part of it should include some kind of hope, or message of forgiveness, or something. And I just don't think…" his voice trailed off.

"I want you to say whatever's in your heart."

"What's in my heart?" Josh's voice rose. "What's in my heart is that these people are animals. I don't know how they got the way they are, and you know what? I don't care. I don't care if they didn't get enough love as children, or if their parents taught them wrong; it's no excuse. The people who shot Matt Santos – they're proud of what they did. Tom Kelsey's wife was on TV bragging about it. They're proud of the Rosslyn shooting. They're proud of trying to kill a 21-year-old man who'd lost his mom and was raising his sister by himself, just because his girlfriend was white and was the daughter of the President. They probably killed Arnold Vinick, for God knows what inane reason, and I'm sure they're also proud of that."

"Mr. Lyman..."

"Donna Moss – my former assistant – almost died in the CODEL attack in Gaza a few years ago, as I guess you know. Some Palestinians planted a roadside bomb and blew up the SUV she was riding in. They didn't even know her. They didn't know Admiral Fitzwallace or the two congressmen who were killed, but they killed them anyway. And whatever legitimate grievances the Palestinians have – and I don't deny that they have some – it doesn't excuse that. It doesn't come close to excusing it. Donna didn't have anything to do with setting Middle East policy. She was just there to learn about the situation and brief me on what was happening, and for that they tried to murder her."

"Believe me, no one's saying that these things can be excused."

"After I found out about…what happened in Gaza, you know what I said? I said we needed to kill them all: the people who did it, the people who planned it, even everyone who was happy about it. All my colleagues assumed I was just so upset I wasn't thinking straight. I think I even tried to tell myself that, but you know? I don't think people like that can be rehabilitated. I think some people are just so evil that whether it's the death penalty, or military action, or whatever we have to do to eliminate them – I think maybe we just have to do it. And I hate saying that. I know it probably makes me sound like a bad Jew. Hell, it makes me sound kind of like a Republican, and you must know how much I can't stand that, but nevertheless…"

"Nothing you've said is shocking to me, Josh," Rabbi Kline responded. "The anger, the desire for revenge…those are completely normal human emotions."

Josh was quiet for a moment. "My grandfather was in a concentration camp. Do you know what that's like? I don't. I've heard the stories, but I can't imagine. He was starved, beaten, worked to exhaustion, and he was sick most of the time because there was no sanitation. He'd just remarried a few years before he got sent there – my grandmother died of cancer when my dad was little – and when they got to Birkenau, his wife was…sent straight to the gas chambers. My dad had gone off to school in the States before…or God knows what would have happened to him." Josh paused for a moment to regain his composure, and then continued. "I don't know if the rumors ever made it down to Florida, but I was diagnosed with PTSD after the Rosslyn shooting. I started having flashbacks. I would yell at people for no reason – even the President once – and finally I ended up putting my hand through a window. I got help and mostly recovered, but it's still there and it always will be. But as bad as that was, I know it was absolutely nothing compared to what my grandfather went through afterward." Josh paused momentarily. "They didn't call it PTSD then, of course, but he was so traumatized he couldn't function, couldn't even hold down a job, for years after he got out. He drank too much. He didn't trust people, and he was always scared of getting too close to anyone. He would hoard food in his house, because once you've been nearly starved to death, you don't ever want that to happen again. He went through two more marriages and divorces. He never talked about the nightmares, but everyone knew he had them almost every night. I don't think he ever forgave himself for surviving when his wife and most of his friends didn't. And he was one of the lucky ones…maybe, I guess, depending on how you look at it."

"My maternal grandmother and her sister both died in the Shoah," Rabbi Kline told him quietly. "Trust me, yes, your grandfather was one of the lucky ones. I'd have given anything to have known them, however damaged and traumatized they might have been. I wish they could have lived to tell their stories."

"Yeah…yeah, of course," Josh sighed. "Anyway, I guess my whole point is: those people – the Nazis – systematically murdered more than six million people. And you know, everyone assumes they must have at least been tormented by it. Their consciences must have bothered them, right? At least the rank-and-file soldiers or the average citizens seeing what was happening – they must have felt something. But you know what I read? Most of them didn't. It didn't bother them, at least not very much. They just went on living their lives. They didn't even…they didn't even care. Maybe we're all like that, deep down." A note of despair crept into Josh's voice. "Maybe given the right set of circumstances we're all capable of standing idly by, if not actively participating in the mass murder of innocent men, women, and children."

"Human nature is no different now than it was in 1930's and 40's Germany," Rabbi Kline agreed. "That's why I think events like this are so important. I think the saying is true: those who don't remember the past are doomed to repeat it."

"But do you actually think it'll do any good?" Josh challenged him. "I mean, aren't you kind of preaching to the choir? I'd venture to guess no one from West Virginia White Pride is going to be showing up at any Holocaust Remembrance Day events, unless it's to, you know, protest or something. The people who go to an event like that tend to be pretty tolerant types already, don't they? How is helping them remember the past going to stop white supremacists, or terrorists in Gaza, or anyone else who wants to kill people just because of who they are?"

Rabbi Kline was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," he finally confessed, a note of resignation in his voice that surprised Josh. "I guess maybe that's why I wanted our congregation to do a bigger event this year. We always hold Holocaust Remembrance Day observances, but I guess I was hoping that if we did something more, and got the community involved, maybe the publicity generated would…you know, help."

"Maybe," Josh tried unsuccessfully to sound like he believed it.

"I know that probably sounds hopelessly naïve."

"It doesn't. It's just…I don't know. All the books, and movies, and plays, and museums, and everything that's been done in the past six decades or so to remember the Holocaust…it doesn't seem to have made much of a dent in all the hate that's out there, at least not that I can see."

"What do you think should be done?" Rabbi Kline asked seriously. "Beyond punishing the crimes after they've occurred, what do you think would help stop people from committing them in the first place? You have a lot of years helping set government policy: what do you think would make a difference?"

"I don't know," Josh admitted. "After Rosslyn, I turned down an opportunity to sue West Virginia White Pride, bankrupt them, and I think I'll always wonder whether Peter and Miranda Santos would still have a father if I'd done it. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, but maybe it would have. Who knows?" He sighed and paused for a moment, thinking. "Anyway, I guess you probably have to reach people when they're still children, when their views about the world are being formed. You know, there are Tom Kelsey's children, who seem so innocent now, but I can't stand to think about what they'll be like as adults…" his voice trailed off. "I don't know. I don't think there are any simple answers."

"Then maybe we can start looking for some not-so-simple answers."

"What do you mean?" Josh blinked in surprise.

"The issues you've raised – to tell you the truth, I've been thinking about them for awhile now. I'd really like to do more. Develop some kind of…project, or something, to combat hate. Hate in all its forms."

"You mean like form some kind of nonprofit?" Josh's brow furrowed in curiosity.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't really know what it would look like." He paused for a moment. "Josh, listen. This may be a crazy idea….and I'm sure it's very presumptuous, but if you were interested and felt strongly enough, if I did look into starting something like that, would you be interested in being involved?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I…I don't know." Josh's brain immediately started coming up with reasons why he shouldn't agree to consider something like that. He didn't even know Rabbi Kline. What had been a speech he had decided not to give was suddenly potentially turning into something much more. He wasn't sure that was what he wanted. But despite all that, his interest was aroused.

"Would you meet with me?" Rabbi Kline asked. "I could come up there. Anytime, at your convenience. We could kick around some ideas. Maybe something will come of it, maybe it won't. What do you say?"

"Um…sure." Josh supposed that much couldn't hurt.

He and the rabbi made plans, settling on a date in late March to meet. Josh hung up the phone, his mind racing. This was a good thing, wasn't it? He'd been continuing his appointments with Stanley, and he was pretty sure his therapist would think it was healthy for him to get involved with something productive rather than sitting around and brooding. But this? Wouldn't it be better to do something not so directly connected to the things that were tormenting him? Still, he couldn't deny that the more he thought about the idea, the more he began to like it.


	27. Chapter 27

"This country has had eight years of Democratic leadership, going on a ninth with President Sellner, and where has it gotten us?" Donna demanded, leaning against the podium for emphasis. The Baker campaign was holed up for the weekend in a rustic lodge in northern Virginia, engaged in the ritual informally known as "debate camp". Donna had been given the role of playing Governor Sullivan in the practice debates.

Nearly three weeks had passed since the Democratic convention. Governor Baker had gotten a brief post-convention bounce in the polls, which had largely disappeared. Now the numbers seemed to have stabilized, with Baker running about five points behind Ray Sullivan. The good news for the campaign was that Sullivan was still polling below 50%; there were enough undecideds to turn the race in Baker's favor, but they had to find a way to win over a large percentage of those voters.

"I'll tell you where it's gotten us," Donna continued in her role. "This nation is no longer safe. In eight years under President Bartlet, look at all that has happened. The President was shot. Zoey Bartlet was kidnapped, possibly in retaliation for an ill-advised and possibly illegal assassination of a foreign leader ordered by President Bartlet, creating a massive constitutional crisis given the fact that the Vice President had just resigned in disgrace. Then the President-Elect was assassinated, creating yet another constitutional crisis. Senator Vinick was murdered within weeks of Bartlet's leaving office, on the watch of President Sellner, who was so out of the loop that MSNBC knew about the shooting before he did." Donna was mildly surprised at how easily the charges rolled off her tongue. She found them disgusting, of course, but she knew the governor had to be prepared for that type of attack.

"You're blaming President Bartlet for-"

"The buck stops at the Oval Office, Governor Baker. If you don't believe that, you have no business seeking the presidency. The United States Secret Service is a vital part of this nation's security, and President Bartlet allowed it to go to seed. I'm sure every American was as appalled as I was to learn that one of the participants in President-Elect Santos' assassination was employed by the Secret Service. If I am elected President, I can guarantee you that reforming the US Secret Service will be at the top of my priority list; whereas you, Governor Baker, have clearly demonstrated your intention to continue President Bartlet's and President Sellner's failed policies with your selection of CJ Cregg as your vice president."

Eric seemed temporarily flummoxed. "I am not President Bartlet," he began weakly. "CJ Cregg is not President Bartlet-"

"Woah, woah," Josh and Sam exclaimed in unison from their seats several feet from the podiums. Josh had decided to join the campaign for the weekend to help with the debate prep, something for which Donna was grateful. It was good to see Josh in political mode again. Despite everything that had happened, she knew politics was in his blood. It was part of who he was. And selfishly, she had to admit she was enjoying having him around. Being away from him was the hardest part of being on the campaign trail.

"President Bartlet left office with an approval rating in the 60's," Sam reminded Eric. "Polls show people still love him. Don't let Sullivan intimidate you into running away from him."

"So my response should be-" Eric began.

"Go on offense," Sam urged. "Try this: 'Governor Sullivan, have you no shame? You would dare blame President Bartlet for his own daughter being kidnapped? The only reason there was, in your words, a 'constitutional crisis' was because President Bartlet was too patriotic to risk letting his love for his daughter interfere with his duties as Commander in Chief. He willingly handed over power to his political rival out of love of country. I pledge here and now to continue President Bartlet's legacy of deep patriotism. And, governor, President-Elect Santos was a personal friend of mine. You're really going to stand here and tell me you don't believe I'd do absolutely everything in my power to bring his killers to justice and make sure nothing like this ever happens again? Because I guarantee you, anyone who doubts my resolve in that area is very sadly mistaken.'"

"And did you hear what Donna said about Shareef?" Josh added. "When told that Shareef was believed to have plotted to blow up the Golden Gate Bridge, polls show most Americans think his killing was justified. Remind people of that. Accuse Governor Sullivan of being soft on terror. Ask him how he justifies _not_ wanting to kill terrorists. Turn the whole line of attack around on him."

"Shouldn't we try to pivot to the economy?" Ronna, who was sitting next to Josh, asked. "I mean, during the Santos campaign, you were the one who said Republicans win on national security, and we can't change that, and that if that's what the election's about, they win. You had some boxes with check marks on a dry erase board, if I remember correctly."

Josh shook his head. "In this case, that _is_ what the election's going to be about. If the governor seems like he's ducking the issue, he's cooked. When people are afraid for their security, they don't tend to vote on the economy."

"Hence Sullivan's lead in the polls," Sam sighed.

"Yeah," Josh agreed dejectedly.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of pep talk?" Eric demanded.

"No. Sorry." Sam shook his head. "Let's try the question again, from the top. Governor Baker, in the wake of recent events, the American people are perhaps as frightened as they have been in years about the threat of terrorism. What reassurance can you offer voters that you would be able to keep them safe as President?"

Sam and Josh exchanged glances as Eric once again answered the question. The governor fended off Donna's blistering rebuttal more effectively this time, but they both knew this wasn't going to be easy. Ronna had raised an unavoidable issue; it remained to be seen whether a Democrat could win a national security election.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You were great," Josh told Donna late that night as they walked into their bedroom at the lodge after a very long day of debate prep.

"Thank you. Always fun playing a wingnut."

"You're a natural. Almost too good. For a second there, I was worried I might be dating a closet Republican."

"I've dated Republicans," Donna smiled teasingly, taking off her blazer and draping it over the back of a chair.

"Don't remind me."

"It's not bad. They're actually kind of sexy. Well, the men are, anyway. I can't speak from experience about the women, although if I were a man I suppose I'd probably think Ainsley Hayes was pretty hot."

"Okay, this conversation has already gotten too weird for me."

Donna laughed and slipped off her shoes, opening a dresser drawer to retrieve her nightgown. When she turned back around, she saw that Josh was staring at her with that expression on his face that always sent her stomach fluttering before he'd even said a word.

"What?"

"I mean it," he said softly, stepping closer to her. "You were wonderful. I loved watching you today. You're the nicest person in the world, but you can still be brutal when your job calls for it. You know the issues so well: well enough to argue them brilliantly from either side. You're really…" he paused, as if searching for the right word. "You've really become a consummate professional. I know you know that, but I guess I've never really told you."

A lump formed in Donna's throat. She hadn't realized until the words had come out of his mouth how much she'd longed to hear him say that. Deep down, she still carried the fear that no matter what she accomplished in her career, Josh would never really be able to see her as anything other than his former assistant. That fear, she knew, was probably closely related to the fear that she'd never be able to see _herself_ as anything more than a secretary who was hired despite an astonishing lack of qualifications.

Of course, she acknowledged to herself, there had been at least one other time when Josh had tried to offer that kind of praise to her, if not quite as eloquently as he'd done just now; but she still preferred not to think about that evening in the hotel bar.

Josh came closer to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'm so proud of you. You've grown so much in the time I've known you."

Tears brimmed in her eyes. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "I had a good teacher. By which I mean _you_."

Josh didn't seem to know quite how to react to that at first, but finally gave her a tentative smile. "Thanks."

Donna gently pulled out of his embrace and began unbuttoning her blouse to change into her nightgown. "You're going to come to the debate on Tuesday, right?"

"Of course."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "And then maybe you could come on the road with the campaign for a little while? The governor needs all the expert hands he can get, and besides, I miss having you around."

"Can't. I have a meeting with a rabbi next week."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Is that the beginning of a joke?"

"No. I really am." He told her about his phone conversation with Rabbi Kline.

"That's wonderful, Josh," she smiled. "How exciting."

"It's not exciting. It's not anything yet. He just wants to kick some ideas around, that's all."

"Well, yes, but it certainly has the potential to be exciting. I think it could be…" she paused. "It sounds like it could be something really special."

"Maybe."

Donna watched as Josh stripped out of his shirt and pants, into the boxers he usually slept in. He pulled down the covers and sat on the bed, and she sat down next to him.

"If you're up for it, of course. If you're ready to…I mean, if it wouldn't be too upsetting for you."

He just shrugged, his mouth twitching slightly as he leaned back against the headboard.

"How's your therapy been going?" Donna asked tentatively after a moment. She knew he'd been continuing to go, but he never talked about it. She didn't know whether that was natural and she shouldn't pry, or if being a couple meant that they should be talking about things like that.

"It's fine." Josh clearly noticed Donna roll her eyes, and added: "He thinks it's possible I might have some issues with guilt."

Donna couldn't help but burst out laughing. "You're kidding. And how many years of school did he need to reach this conclusion?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"I mean, really, you have to be the only person in the universe who could think it was the fault of a seven-year-old boy that his older sister died in a house fire." She said those words in a flip tone that she instantly regretted when she saw the way Josh's expression changed.

"I'm sorry," she offered softly, reaching over and rubbing his shoulder.

"I'm not the only one who could think that." His voice was barely audible.

"What do you mean?"

He was quiet for a long moment, as if deciding how much to tell her. He stared mostly at the sheets, glancing up at her on occasion.

"What is it, Josh?"

He gazed at her for a moment. Finally, in a quiet, faltering voice, he told her about what he'd heard his father say after the fire.

Tears formed in Donna's eyes as she listened to the story. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his bare chest. "Oh, Josh."

He sighed. "Yeah. So I guess according to Stanley, that's why I'm so screwed up. Part of the reason, anyway."

Donna didn't answer right away. She continued to hold him, becoming progressively more upset as she thought about what he'd told her. "You never told me your father was such a bastard."

"He wasn't," Josh objected, pulling back from her.

"How could he say something like that to you?"

"He didn't say it to me. He didn't know I was listening."

"I don't care. How could he even think it? Even for a second?"

"His daughter had just been killed."

"Yes, and his son was still alive, and the only reason for that was because you had the sense to run when you saw a kitchen catch on fire. Would he rather you had been-" Donna's voice shook with tears. She stared brokenly at Josh, unable to continue speaking as she suddenly realized how easily things could have ended differently that night. It was more than she could stand to think about: Josh dying as a child. She tried to imagine never having known him, never having him in her life, and the tears started running down her cheeks. Between the fire and Rosslyn, all of a sudden she was keenly aware of what a miracle it was that he was even still here. What were the odds, anyway, of someone cheating death twice like that? She wrapped her arms around him again and pulled him close.

"I'm sorry, Donna. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. I'm glad you told me." Donna gazed at him tenderly for a moment, and then leaned her head back against his chest. She really was glad. Surely, she figured, it had to be a good sign, an indication of trust redeveloping between the two of them.

"Your father didn't blame you for what happened, you know," Donna told him quietly after a few moments.

"Probably not," Josh conceded with a shrug.

"He didn't. He blamed himself."

Josh raised an eyebrow. "And you know this how?"

"How could he not have? He and your mom were the ones who left Joanie alone with you when she was obviously too young to be babysitting."

"It wasn't their fault." A note of defensiveness entered Josh's voice.

"I'm saying they thought it was. Josh, what if it was us? What if…hypothetically, of course, what if we were married and had kids, and left them to go out to dinner, and when we got back, there was a fire truck in front of our house and…"

A stricken look formed on Josh's face as he tried for a moment to imagine the scenario, and Donna instantly wished she could take it back. Josh was dealing with more than enough actual tragedy; the last thing he needed was to be asked to contemplate hypothetical horrific situations as well.

"I don't think I could go on," Josh concluded, his voice choked.

"I don't think I could, either. That's what your parents went through. That's all I'm saying. They never blamed you."

Josh let out a breath. "Well, that settles it. I'm officially never letting our kids out of my sight. Not for a minute. Not until they're eighteen. No, screw eighteen. That's when kids go off to college, and get stupid and start drinking and doing God knows what else. Thirty-five at least. I mean, our hypothetical kids, of course," he added quickly.

"Great. So our kids will be safe, but they'll never develop any independence, let alone social lives, because of their crazy, hovering father."

"I never said my plan was perfect."

Donna smiled, touching his cheek and gazing at him tenderly for a moment. "You're such a strong person. All you've been though in your life, and here you are, still…you."

"Strong. Yeah."

"You are."

"I don't think most people who get shot develop PTSD that's so bad they put their hands through windows as a result."

Her face fell. "Josh-"

He shook his head. "Never mind."

She looked at him. "You sat there on the ground, for minutes that must have felt like hours, with a bullet in your side, thinking you were going to die and that maybe the President and all your friends were dead, too. You really think most people would bounce back from that with no problem?"

"Not all my friends," Josh looked at her, his eyes filled with love and tenderness. "I remember…that night, I remember thinking how glad I was that you'd stayed home."

She glanced downward. "I don't think I've ever quite forgiven myself for not being there."

Josh shook his head. "You're the strong one. After what happened in Gaza…you came back right to work, and not only did you not have a meltdown like I did, you moved forward, found a great job – and look at you now."

Donna was quiet for a long moment, debating what to say next. "It wasn't quite that easy," she finally told him.

Worry suddenly creased Josh's face. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Being back at the White House, with the Mideast peace negotiations being center stage…I guess it was just a little harder than I'd anticipated. They kept showing footage from the bombing on all those televisions that are in every room of the West Wing, and…"

Josh pulled her closer. "Oh God. I'm sorry, Donna. It was my fault; I should have known how hard that would be for you. I shouldn't have had you come back to work until that situation was firmly on the back burner."

"It's the Middle East. It's never on the back burner. And I'm an adult, Josh. I made the decision to come back to work when I did." She paused. "It wasn't…it never got as bad as…it did with you. I mean, I don't even remember it. I remember getting into the SUV, and then waking up in a hospital bed. That's it."

Josh ran a finger along her cheek. "Was that part of the reason why you left?"

She sighed. "I guess it might have played into it. The White House definitely felt like less of a fun place to be afterward, which probably…" she paused. "I left because I needed to leave. But it probably made the decision a little easier."

"What about now?" Josh looked at her intently, his eyes filled with worry. "Are you…"

"I'm okay now," she assured him.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I mean, it's still hard to think about, and I suppose it always will be, but I'm okay. I really am."

Josh reached over and gently stroked her hair. "I love you. You know that, right?"

She smiled. "I love you, too."

Josh brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. She wound her arms around his neck, running her fingers though his hair as the kiss deepened. They leaned back onto the bed, and Josh rolled over so he was on top of her.

"I don't know why you bother wearing that nightgown to bed," he murmured huskily.

"Because I like how it feels when you take it off of me," she returned with a smile, helping him pull the gown over her head and then tossing it on the floor. "And I don't know why you bother wearing those boxers to bed," she added as her hands went to the elastic waistband.

"Same reason."

Donna slipped the boxers off of him, closing her eyes as she felt his lips slide down her neck to her breasts. Soon they were making love, with more passion and intensity than they had in a long time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Okay, T-minus ninety minutes," Sam announced. The campaign was at Georgetown University, where the only presidential debate of the campaign season would get underway in less than two hours. Josh was in the spin room, working on reporters in advance of the debate, while Sam, Donna, and CJ were preparing the governor to take the stage.

Sam never failed to marvel at how every detail of a presidential debate was subject to such intense negotiation. The length of the debate, the rules, the subjects that would be covered and the amount of time that would be spent on each topic, even the temperature in the room, had all been carefully scripted. But despite that, and despite all their hours of prep work with the governor, in the end debates were always unpredictable. Anything could happen.

"You're sure you're ready?" Donna asked Governor Baker. "It's not too late for one last drill."

"I'm fine. Think more prep work at this time would just make me nervous." Governor Baker straightened his tie in a mirror. "How do I look?"

"Perfect," Donna assured him.

"Maybe we should talk to Dottie about cutting off his tie at the last minute, just for good measure," CJ quipped.

Donna laughed, while Eric looked confused. "What?"

"Nothing. Just a little inside humor-" CJ's voice broke off when her cell phone rang. She stepped out of the room to answer it. When she returned, her smile was gone. "I have to get to the White House," she informed them.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"I don't know exactly. I just have to get back there. Governor, best of luck. I know you'll be great." She patted him on the shoulder quickly before turning to leave.

Sam frowned. Whatever was going on, it couldn't be good news. "Donna, would you-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Ronna walked into the room, a look of alarm on her face. "It's just breaking on FOX News," she told them, her voice shaking slightly. "Some documents, as well as surveillance photos, were leaked showing that after the Rosslyn shooting, President Bartlet had intelligence on the location of the West Virginia White Pride headquarters, which he apparently did nothing with."

"What was he supposed to do?" Sam demanded. "This is a democracy. You can't raid the headquarters of an organization just because you don't like the philosophy it espouses. And who…how the hell did FOX News get those documents anyway? I'm quite sure that something like that would have been classified."

"They're saying the information was mailed to them anonymously, but they claim to have verified its authenticity."

"I'm sure," Sam rolled his eyes.

Ronna continued: "And naturally, of course, the talking heads at FOX are saying…"

"That if President Bartlet had acted, the President-Elect would never have been assassinated," Donna concluded, her voice laced with disgust.

"Yeah. And they're also already starting to speculate on how a leak like this might have occurred, and what it says about our national security, never mind the competence of the executive branch…"

Donna and Sam exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing.

"Is this going to be the shuttle leak scandal all over again?" Donna asked quietly.

"No," Sam shook his head grimly. "The President-Elect and a US senator have been assassinated, and the story about the leak is breaking barely an hour before a presidential debate. This is a hell of a lot worse than the shuttle leak scandal."


	28. Chapter 28

"Governor Baker, what is your reaction to the story just broken by FOX News regarding the intelligence about West Virginia White Pride, the group whose members carried out the 2000 assassination attempt at Rosslyn, VA, intelligence which was apparently in President Bartlet's possession after the shooting?"

"I…obviously, I'm concerned," Eric stammered slightly in response to the debate moderator's question. "My staff and I haven't had a chance yet to fully review the information, and I expect to have further comment once we have."

"But your initial reaction?"

"I believe national security is the top priority of any President. That's my reaction."

"Governor Sullivan?" The debate moderator turned to Eric's opponent, who was clearly waiting to pounce.

"I was appalled," he responded sharply. "I'm sure it's no secret that I've never been a big fan of President Bartlet, but this is unbelievable. This President was too weak-kneed to take action against a group of radicals who tried to kill him? If he wouldn't even step up to avenge an attempt on his own life, what does that tell us about how motivated Bartlet administration ever was to protect any of the rest of us? And if that wasn't bad enough, now classified intelligence documents have been leaked to the press, at least the second such instance that has come to light in as many years. This kind of incompetence was a hallmark of the administration in which CJ Cregg played an integral role from beginning to end."

"CJ Cregg was the press secretary at the time of the Rosslyn shooting," Eric retorted haltingly. "She wasn't calling the shots on how to respond to the attack. She can't be held responsible for-"

"That's your defense? That your vice presidential pick may have given press conferences, but she can't be blamed for what happened because she had no say over policy? This is the woman you want to put a heartbeat away from the presidency, Governor Baker?" Ray Sullivan turned away from Eric to look into the cameras. "I would like to call on Governor Baker, here and now, to condemn the Bartlet administration for its weakness following an assassination attempt on the President of the United States, as well for its colossal mishandling of classified information. I would further like to ask him to withdraw his pledge to nominate CJ Cregg for the Vice Presidency, at least until there has been a thorough investigation as to what if any role she might have played in all this."

"Governor Baker?" The moderator prompted him for a response.

"Well, I thank Governor Sullivan for his kind suggestion, but I assure you that won't be happening."

"That tells us all we need to know about your commitment to national security," Ray snapped in response.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Tell me it wasn't really that bad," Sam groaned as the campaign entourage walked out of the debate hall toward the waiting motorcade.

"Trust me, it _was_ that bad," Eric sighed.

"Maybe on TV it won't come across as so…okay, it will," Sam conceded. "But you had some good answers. On the economy, on defense…"

"None of which will be remembered. You know which clips are going to be replayed over and over again on the news. The ones of me stammering like an idiot."

Sam glanced downward. "I'm sorry, governor. This was my fault. We should have spent more time at debate camp going over how to handle unexpected curveballs like this."

"It wasn't your fault. I was the one on that stage. I was the one who couldn't come up with a coherent answer."

"Really wish we hadn't agreed to such a free-flowing debate format," Sam remarked with a sigh. "Some stricter rules might have prevented Sullivan from taking over the room the way he did."

"I'm usually good with that kind of format. I blew it tonight. That's all there is to it."

"It wasn't anyone's fault," Josh cut in. "This came out of the blue. There was no way you could have been prepped for it, governor."

"Yeah, and isn't that convenient?" Sam snapped. "The story just happens to drop an hour before a presidential debate. I don't suppose anyone in the crack team of journalists covering presidential politics will bother to investigate whether the timing could possibly have been a coincidence?"

"The campaign can't be working that angle," Donna interjected. "The last thing on Earth the governor needs right now is to be seen as whining about the news coverage."

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a sigh. The group approached the motorcade, and Sam, Josh, and Donna got into one of the SUV's with Eric.

"The bastard. Sullivan, that is." Sam grumbled angrily as the motorcade pulled away. "This whole thing is absurd. Does he really think President Bartlet wouldn't have used absolutely every tool constitutionally available to him to bring to justice anyone involved with the the Rosslyn attack? He was one of the ones shot, never mind the fact that they weren't even trying to kill him. They were trying to kill Charlie. Charlie, who he thinks of as practically a surrogate son. They almost killed you, Josh. _Zoey_ was in the crowd, for Heaven's sake; she could easily have been hit. And Ray Sullivan dares accuse him of not wanting to retaliate? President Bartlet should be praised for adhering to the Constitution even in the face of huge temptation to do otherwise, not condemned for it." Sam's voice had risen to a note of righteous indignation by the end of his tirade.

"Yes, we all heard you deliver that speech to every reporter you talked to," Donna gave him a wry smile.

"And yet it won't make one bit of difference," Sam responded. "When it comes down to respecting the Constitution versus getting the bad guys, we know what always wins in the minds of the voters. I swear, sometimes I really wonder what's wrong with this country."

Josh stared quietly out the window of the SUV, a vacant expression on his face as he listened to the discussion.

"You okay?" Sam asked him, suddenly concerned as he saw the look on his friend's face.

"Yeah." Josh took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. "Look, our line to the press is that it would have been irresponsible for Governor Baker to make any definitive statements before having a chance to thoroughly review the situation. Ray Sullivan may feel comfortable using the issue to grandstand for political gain, but Governor Baker is a serious, thoughtful leader who likes to know the facts before he speaks. That's what we tell any reporter with any questions about his debate performance."

"Think anyone will buy that?" Donna asked.

"It's true."

"Yes, but do you think anyone will buy it?"

Josh shrugged. "All we can do is hope for the best."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Governor Baker appeared stammering and indecisive, occasionally giving the impression of a deer caught in the headlights as he attempted to resopnd to questions about the late-breaking story involving the Bartlet administration's apparent failure to take action against a white supremacist group believed to have been involved in the Santos assassination," Bob Mayer gleefully read a pundit's reaction to the debate off the screen of his BlackBerry as the Sullivan campaign's motorcade pulled away from Georgetown University.

"Who was that?" Ray demanded from the seat in front of Bob.

"Andrea Summers from CBS."

"Sweet!"

Ainsley stared out the window of the SUV, feeling almost physically ill. The campaign didn't need to wait for the analysis of pundits or the flash polls to know that Governor Baker had done himself no favors during the debate. He'd had a few decent moments, to be sure, discussing health care and the situation in Kazakhstan – issues he'd surely been prepped for – but she knew all of that would be forgotten in the post-debate analysis. What the public would remember was the way he'd crumbled in the face of the pounding he'd received from Ray Sullivan on this new scandal. And it was a scandal, or at least it would soon be viewed as one. It hadn't been too long after the Rosslyn shooting that Ainsley had come to work at the Bartlet White House. From what she knew about the legal issues, she was fairly certain that there was no way President Bartlet could have taken action against West Virginia White Pride without crossing constitutional boundaries. But even if the general public could be persuaded to agree with that, the leak of classified information was indefensible. And the fact that this was happening so soon after the shuttle leak scandal made it that much worse.

"You don't look very happy," Bob observed, glancing at her.

Ainsley didn't have it in her to pretend otherwise, at least not at the moment. "Awfully convenient, that story breaking right before the debate," she observed coolly, still gazing out the window.

"What can I say? The gods were smiling on us."

"I don't suppose we had anything to do with it."

"Us? Ainsley, I'm flattered, and we do have good oppo researchers, but if you think we could have come up with classified documents from going on seven years ago to leak to the press…well, I think you're giving us a little too much credit."

"The media's going to ask if we had anything to do with it," another staffer commented.

Bob shook his head. "The press gets a little sensational at times, but they're not idiots. They're not going to put that kind of wild speculation on the air without evidence to back it up."

"When do you suppose the leak happened?" the staffer asked. "I mean, just because the story is breaking now doesn't necessarily mean that's when the documents were first leaked. The breach of security could have happened pretty much anytime, right? Under Bartlet or Sellner; we can't really know."

"The beauty part is it doesn't matter," Ray commented. "Either way, it reflects poorly on CJ Cregg."

Ainsley closed her eyes, still reeling from what had just happened. Whether Bob Mayer knew it or not, she was certain that Ray had been involved in the leak of those documents She didn't know how he'd pulled it off, but there was no way the timing was a coincidence. Eric Baker had clearly been blindsided by the story, but Ray had somehow seemed fully prepared for it at the debate. He hadn't missed a beat in his blistering attack on Governor Baker. It made her wonder just how much time he'd had to plan his line of attack.

Burned into Ainsley's head was the image of Sam, Eric Baker, and the rest of the Baker campaign leaving the debate hall, doing their best to keep their heads up and not look as defeated as they'd undoubtedly felt. A lump suddenly formed in her throat, and she looked away so that no one would notice. Sam had no idea what he was up against. He presumably thought he was simply trying to get a candidate he liked into the Oval Office, and prevent the election of someone with whom he sharply differed ideologically. He didn't know how much more than that was at stake. If Ray Sullivan won the election, the United States would have a murderer and a sociopath as its leader. The Baker campaign was quite literally an effort to save the country from ruin, and no one – not Governor Baker, not Sam, not anyone from the campaign – had any way of knowing it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Thanks again for meeting with me," Rabbi Kline said to Josh as the two men walked to a small round table, cups of coffee in hand, at a Starbuck's in Georgetown. The rabbi had flown into DC earlier that day, and was eager to discuss his plans with Josh.

"No problem."

"Rough debate for your guy the other night."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"How do you think those documents got leaked?"

"No idea."

"It's all so absurd. All these talking heads on TV – do they ever stop for a moment and think about whether they'd actually _want_ the government to have the power to dismantle organizations based on their ideology? Or to hold an entire group of people responsible for the actions of individual members?"

"Cable news is for the most part a joke," Josh commented. "They say whatever they think will boost their ratings. And, no, I don't think those pundits have ever actually sat down and pondered the broader implications of what they're advocating. Actually, that's the charitable assumption. Less charitable would be to think that they _have_ thought about it, and just don't care. If an instance of government overreach comes to light in the future, they'll get on their soapboxes about how awful it is and figure no one will notice the inconsistency."

Rabbi Kline took a sip of his coffee. "If only you could get rid of hate by passing a law against it. But you can't."

Josh nodded. "Which is kind of why you're here."

The rabbi nodded. "Since we talked, I've been brainstorming some ideas. What I'm thinking about is maybe trying to open some kind of center. Part of its purpose would be educational. It could be a museum of sorts, with exhibits on racism in America, historical and current, on other forms of discrimination in this country, as well as an exhibit on the Shoah – the Holocaust."

"There are already excellent Holocaust Museums all around the country," Josh pointed out.

"Yes, but like I said, that would just be one part of the center. I'm also envisioning a wide range of other services. Maybe there could be an outreach to local schools, elementary schools in particular. I've been thinking about what you said about how we have to reach children when they're young, when their ideas about the world are still being formed. I know programs in schools can't take the place of what they learn at home, but it could be a start. We could go in, do presentations to the kids, and maybe work with teachers and principals to continue the efforts on a longer-term basis."

"Sounds good," Josh nodded thoughtfully. "You'd need to line up teachers and other people with a background in education, and who would be willing to volunteer their time, at least at first, until enough of the fundraising for the center kicked in – but I'm guessing that wouldn't be too hard."

"Right," Rabbi Kline nodded. "And then in addition to that, the center could offer legal resources to people who feel they've been discriminated against. And it could also lobby government on all levels. The government can't outlaw hate, but the right kind of legislation can help steer things in the right direction."

Josh sighed. "Yeah. These days I think I'd be happy if the government would start by at least doing no harm. I mean, you have state governments wanting to ban the teaching of 'ethnic studies' in schools, and making non-citizens subject to arrest if they don't carry their documentation around at all times. Which really makes _anyone_ without papers subject to arrest. I mean, how do you prove your citizenship to a cop who pulls you over?"

"Nothing like governors and state legislators who are willing to do anything to pander to a certain slice of their constituency."

"Yeah. And as someone who's worked in DC my whole adult life, I'd love to just blame the state governments, but I can't. Politicians in Washington know how to milk these issues for all they're worth, too. I remember once when President Bartlet was in a battle with congress over FEC nominees. You know what the Republicans threatened to do if the President nominated the people he wanted? Punish him by rolling out an 'English as the national language' bill – something tailor-made to whip up flag-waving fervor at the expense of non-English speaking people, particularly Latinos. That's how you score political points, I guess."

"It's absolutely wrong to exploit divisions between people for political gain," Rabbi Kline agreed. "That's got to be a central theme to this project."

"What about gay rights issues?" Josh asked, his mind clearly hard at work as he attempted to clarify the vision for this center. "Gay marriage in particular?"

"What about it?" Rabbi Kline asked. "I'm for it. Aren't you?"

"Sure, but if the center takes that position publicly, it'd have to be prepared for some pushback. Gay rights issues aren't necessarily all that popular in other minority communities. A lot of people are going to be offended to see it included with other civil rights struggles."

"Then let them be offended. This thing is never going to get off the ground if we're afraid of stepping on any toes." Rabbi Kline paused, thinking. "We address the concerns, of course. We do it in as respectful and thoughtful a way as possible. Resolving tensions between different minority groups has to be as much a part of our mission as anything else. But we still take a stand."

Josh nodded. He and Rabbi Kline went to the counter to get refills of their coffees, and then sat back down to continue their discussion. Several hours and at least four cups of coffee later, they had come up with the beginnings of a plan. A lot of the details still had to be worked out, most pressingly where to begin with the fundraising, but the center did have a tentative title, pending the approval of the families: The Matthew Santos and Arnold Vinick Memorial Center for Reconciliation.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"New numbers are in – first full sample since the debate," Bob Mayer announced to Ray, Ainsley, and several other staffers who were gathered in a hotel suite in Ohio. Some aspects of presidential campaigns were apparently ubiquitous, and Ohio's status as a perpetual swing state – very often the deciding state in an election – was one of them. Even in this abbreviated campaign season, it was already the Sullivan campaign's third stop there.

"And?" Ray prompted eagerly.

"Nine points up."

"Alright!" Ray clapped his hands for emphasis.

"Yeah, but I was hoping for more." Bob refused to share his enthusiasm. "Leak scandal at CJ Cregg's White House. Baker crumbling at the debate. Will Bailey sounding as awkward as all get-out repeating over and over again at his press conferences that 'the administration will be launching an investigation' but answering no questions beyond that. I mean, geez. With all that, would a double-digit lead have been too much to ask for?"

"You're such a pessimist. Always have been," Ray responded.

"Am not. I've just been cautioned about overconfidence one too many times."

"Nine points," Ray shook his head and glanced at Ainsley, who was sitting quietly in an armchair. "Can you believe it?"

"It's fantastic," she forced a smile in his direction.

"And in exactly ten days, you are going to put our lead in the bank at the VP debate." Ray smiled. "Can't wait to see CJ Cregg squirm."

"CJ Cregg rarely squirms," Ainsley informed him.

"She will, when she gets pummeled nonstop with questions about the leak. It's perfect, because whether people blame Bartlet or Sellner, or both, for what happened, it still falls on her."

"Ainsley's right, though, governor," Bob cautioned. "CJ Cregg is good. She was Bartlet's press secretary for almost seven years, including during the MS scandal. She's a pro at fending off tough questions."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure we're even better than she is," Ray glanced at Ainsley. "You'll have your work cut out for you at debate camp this weekend."

"Yes, governor." Ainsley paused, and then got to her feet. "May I be excused? I'm going to head to my room and go over the new stump speech one more time."

"Of course."

Ainsley left the room, deep in thought as she walked several doors down to her room. She arrived and opened the door to see Mark sitting at a desk, surrounded by his laptop and several piles of papers.

"I could throw the debate," Ainsley announced before Mark could utter a word of greeting.

"Hmm?"

"I could throw the debate. Make myself look like an idiot in front of the entire county, in stark contrast to the poise and sophistication of CJ Cregg. Make people question Ray Sullivan's judgment for having, in times as dangerous as these, chosen someone so monumentally underqualified as myself to be a heartbeat away from the presidency."

"Yeah…I suppose." Mark still appeared slightly distracted.

"That's what I'll do. Who knows; maybe it could actually be fun. I could consider it my very first acting role on national television. Do you think they'd nominate me for an Emmy?" There was no amusement in Ainsley's voice, only sarcasm.

"You'd have to be careful not to overdo it," Mark warned her. "The last thing we need is for anyone on the campaign to get suspicious."

"Ray Sullivan has made it perfectly clear that he considers me a blond bimbo whose only useful purpose in any campaign or administration is to be eye candy," Ainsley shot back. "Surely he shouldn't be surprised if I don't happen to hold up especially well against a veteran of press conferences like CJ Cregg?"

"I guess you're right. I can't advise you on the politics, though. My role here is law enforcement."

"I know that."

He nodded. "And on that front, we may have some progress."

"What do you mean?"

"This came for me in the mail today." He handed her a folded piece of white paper. "No return address, of course, but it seems like quite a coincidence so soon after my little chat with the governor."

Ainsley unfolded it and silently read the laser-printed note:

_Dear Friend:_

_Help take back our country. Be proud of your race and stand up to those who want white people subjugated into slavery. Some members of White Pride USA will be exercising their right to peaceably assemble next Thursday at 7pm, at 1405 West Cherry Street, in Boulder, CO. Since the Sullivan campaign will be in town at that time, WPUSA cordially invites you to attend._


	29. Chapter 29

Mark stepped out of the taxi and gazed for a moment at the medium-sized, unassuming house in Boulder, CO. Ainsley was with Governor Sullivan at a rally across town, the campaign's final stop before Ainsley would step off the trail for a few days for debate camp, and Mark had slipped away to attend his first ever meeting of White Pride USA.

He glanced down at the invitation in his hand to double-check the address: 1405 West Cherry Street. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk up a dirt pathway through a large lawn toward the front door.

"Hey," a tall, slightly heavy-set man with a buzz cut greeted him.

"Hi," Mark swallowed nervously. "I was told this was…" he paused and handed him the invitation. "This came for me in the mail."

The man glanced at it and nodded. "Come on in."

"I'm Mark," he introduced himself as they walked down a short hallway.

"Greg."

They entered a living room, and Mark glanced around. He quickly counted fourteen other guests in attendance. Most were white men who looked to be in their twenties and thirties, but he was mildly surprised to see three women there as well.

"Beer?" Greg offered.

"Sure."

Greg walked in the direction of the kitchen to get the beer, and Mark sat down on a sofa next to two young men who bore a startling resemblance to each other. He realized immediately that they must be twins.

He turned to the man sitting closest to him. "I'm Mark."

"Kurt," the man glanced in Mark's direction. "And this is my brother Scott."

He nodded, doing his best to look casual. "So this is my first meeting."

"I know," Kurt responded.

"How do you know that?"

"Been a part of all this for going on four years now. Ever since my freshman year of college. I know who the newcomers are."

Before Mark could respond, Greg approached him and handed him a beer bottle, and then walked to the front of the room to address the gathering.

"Thank you all for coming," Greg began. "Most of you are new to this movement; some of you are old hands. Let me tell you a little about what White Pride USA is all about. We have branches all across the country, in all 50 states. But I'm sure that for many of you, it was our West Virginia chapter that first brought us to your attention. The people who shot Bartlet in Virginia seven years ago claimed ties to West Virginia White Pride – as, of course, do the people who killed Matt Santos."

"Claimed ties?" Mark called out. "You're saying they weren't actually affiliated?"

"It's our policy never to confirm or deny that someone is affiliated with our organization," he responded. "Anyway, it's fitting that West Virginia is our most prominent chapter, because that's where this all began. Our founder, Don, launched White Pride USA in Blacksburg, West Virginia, almost 35 years ago. It was, and still is, a simple organization with a simple mission – so simple it can be summarized in 14 words: 'We must secure the existence of white people and the future for white children.'"

"By any means necessary?" The question came from a young man sitting across the room from Mark, obviously also a newcomer.

"You're asking if we endorse violence?"

"Well, I mean, obviously you do. Bartlet, Santos – what about Vinick? Was that you guys also?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

_Yes, he does,_ Mark thought to himself, relieved that the questions were coming from someone other than him. The last thing he wanted to do was arouse anyone's suspicions.

"Hey, I just want to be clear about what I'm getting into."

"Our mission statement is exactly what I just told you. The 14 words contain no mention of violence. That's not what we're about. We're about education. We sound the alarm; we let people know that the very existence of the white race is being threatened. It's threatened by miscegenation. It's threatened by so-called affirmative action. It's threatened when liberal white guilt can put a Mexican socialist radical in the White House. We educate," he repeated. "And once our members and friends are educated, whatever they decide to do with that knowledge, whatever action they think they need to take to protect this country – that's their responsibility, not ours."

"But I'm guessing you're not exactly sorry someone took out Santos before he could become President," Mark commented, doing his best to sound lighthearted.

"Me personally? No, I can't say that I am," Greg chuckled in response.

Greg's informal presentation continued for a few more minutes. Afterwards, he sat down on a folding chair across from Mark. "I see you've met Kurt and Scott."

"Yep," Mark smiled in the direction of the two brothers.

"Two of our most committed members. You can learn a lot from them."

"Excellent."

"So what about you?" Greg asked. "What got you interested in all this?

"Well, the things you believe – I believe them too. Always have. I guess I just didn't realize there were likeminded people out there. I thought I was alone, you know? But then I got this invitation – I don't know who sent it to me, but I'm sure glad they did, and here I am."

"Good."

"Who did send the invitation?" Mark questioned. "I mean, if you don't mind my asking. I'm just curious."

"Could have been pretty much anyone. Someone got the idea that you were sympathetic to our cause and sent the invite. That's how it usually works."

"So how does all this work?" Mark asked. "I mean, do you guys have, like, weekly meetings, or what?"

"Not exactly. We have to be careful. The government spies on us. Those surveillance photos that got leaked to the press – trust me, that was no surprise to us. We know they're out to get us." Greg paused. "Mostly we stay in contact online, though anonymous internet accounts. A lot of our members get pre-paid cell phones that are hard for the Feds to track. Gatherings like this are mostly for recruitment's sake. You can't bring people into the movement without some personal contact, you know?"

"And the last month or so has been amazing," Kurt added enthusiastically. "Let me tell you, ever since it came out that the Santos shooter had ties to us, recruiting has gone through the roof. I've never seen this kind of interest in our movement. This is the second house get-together we've had since the shooting. Living rooms full of new people every time. Before, we'd have two or three new people if we were lucky. And we only had meetings maybe once every couple of months."

"I suppose the same thing probably happened after Bartlet was shot?"

"That was before my time, but yeah – I'm sure it did."

"You think it's crazy here; you should see what it's like in West Virginia," Greg told them. "They're overwhelmed. More recruits than they know what to do with." He paused. "Listen, I don't know if any of you are able to travel much, but Don is planning a huge gathering at his ranch in Blacksburg in a few weeks. He's inviting people from all over the country."

"Don really is legendary," Scott told Mark. "I've never met him. Most of us haven't, but as Greg said, none of this would exist without him."

"I met him once, five years ago. He's amazing," Greg added, his face lighting up as he spoke.

"I'd love to meet him. And yeah…you know, traveling's not a problem for me. I might be able to go," Mark told him.

"Awesome," Greg responded, and then turned to Scott and Kurt. "What about you two?"

"Yo, man, we're college students," Scott reminded him. "You think we can afford to take off across the country at a moment's notice?"

"Just thought I'd ask."

"So what do you guys think about the election?" Mark tentatively changed the subject. He suspected the people at this meeting probably wouldn't know about any involvement Ray Sullivan might have with West Virginia White Pride; and if they did know, they almost certainly wouldn't broadcast that information to a newcomer. Still, anything was possible; maybe he'd get lucky and they'd let something slip.

"What about it?"

"You guys are Sullivan supporters, I assume?"

"Sure," Greg shrugged. "He seems like good people. Better than Baker. Sure better than Santos would have been. But it's not the politicians in DC who are going to change things," he added. "Even if some of them might believe what we do, they can't do nothin' about it. They have to get re-elected, so they have to be politically correct. We're the ones who have to save this country."

"That's right," Kurt nodded. "And trust me: we will."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"The rules for tonight's debate are simple," the moderator spoke to a crowd of a couple hundred people at UCLA, as well as a television audience of millions, as the vice presidential debate got underway. "The debate will last for 90 minutes, and will cover a range of domestic and international issues. Each candidate will have two minutes for her response, followed by a one-minute rebuttal from her opponent. Candidates will not pose questions directly to each other; I, the moderator, will be asking all the questions. As a result of a coin flip, the first question will be directed to Democratic vice presidential candidate CJ Cregg. In the interest of time, I will ask the audience to please hold your applause, except for right now. Please welcome CJ Cregg and Ainsley Hayes."

CJ took a deep breath and strode out onto the stage. She and Ainsley met in the center of the stage and shook hands, and then CJ turned and walked to her podium.

She wasn't really nervous, she realized. She probably should be. As experienced as she was at taking questions from the press, she'd never been in a situation like this. It wasn't just a vice presidential debate; it was a vice presidential debate which was likely to be dominated by questions about her tenure as President Bartlet's press secretary and Chief of Staff, and as President Sellner's CoS. The shuttle leak scandal would be a prime focus of the debate, as would the leak of intelligence regarding West Virginia White Pride. She would be defending her own record, her own competence during her long tenure in the executive branch, in a way that she knew Ainsley wouldn't have to.

Inexperience could be an advantage in political campaigns, CJ mused, glancing discreetly at the blond woman to her right. Yes, the pundits still occasionally liked to chatter about whether Ainsley's qualifications were sufficient for the position to which she would be appointed if Ray Sullivan won the election, but the bottom line was that not having a long record in DC meant that one's opponents had less to pick apart and distort.

The two weeks since the Bartlet-era intelligence about West Virginia White Pride had surfaced had felt surreal to CJ, bringing back far too many memories that she'd rather forget about the shuttle leak incident. She'd had to make a few appearances on the campaign trail to convince the media that the Baker campaign wasn't having second thoughts about her, but most of her time had been spent at the White House, where she was feeling about as ineffectual as she ever had in all the time she'd worked there. The calls from Republicans in Congress for a special prosecutor were loud and shrill, even as CJ got the distinct sense from the President and the Attorney General that they already had at least a tentative theory as to how the leak might have occurred. They wouldn't tell her anything about it, of course. As someone with a cloud of suspicion hanging over her, she knew that only made sense. She was fairly certain that they didn't think she'd been behind the leak, but beyond that all she could do was speculate.

"Ms. Cregg: first question," the moderator began. "The vice presidency is a unique and vital position within the federal government, yet its role is largely vague and undefined, particularly in the minds of voters. What do you see as the proper role of the Vice President in an administration, and what would you anticipate your own vice presidency looking like if Governor Baker wins this election?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam, Ronna, and Donna huddled around a television in the spin room, watching the debate. They all breathed a slow sigh of relief as CJ delivered a typically smart, concise answer to the moderator's first question.

"At least they didn't lead off with a question about the leak," Ronna commented. They had all worried that the moderator would view the debate as an opportunity to spend 90 minutes hammering CJ with leak questions, which would unavoidably lead to her appearing as though she was on the defensive no matter how deftly she answered.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, but vague questions like that one can be pretty dangerous. They sound innocuous enough, but you'd be amazed by how many people get tripped up by them. CJ really did great."

"Yes, but then everyone thought you were doing great during that Capital Beat interview; at least until Ainsley Hayes started to speak," Donna commented teasingly, cocking her head slightly as she glanced at Sam.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I'm just saying we shouldn't get overconfident, that's all."

They quieted down as Ainsley began to answer.

"Well, I personally believe it's true that the vice presidency is an extremely important role in our national government. I would certainly take it very seriously were I to be elected. Not that I'm going to be elected, per se, of course. Ray Sullivan is on the ballot, not me, but as you know he's promised to appoint me Vice President if he wins. But in the event that I was appointed and was confirmed, I would wake up every day determined to fulfill my duties. Duties which would include breaking ties in the Senate to decide on legislation, and being the leader of the Senate as the Constitution specifies, and then of course always being ready to step in as President if God forbid something should happen to President Sullivan. That's really what being Vice President is all about."

"What on Earth was that?" Ronna demanded.

"Not exactly a 'textbooks are important' moment," Sam commented, glancing at Donna.

"She must be so nervous," Donna responded, sympathy in her voice. "She's never done anything like this before."

"Still, she should have been prepped better than that," Sam's brow furrowed.

"I guess you were right about vague questions being dangerous," Ronna observed.

"It was just one bad answer. I'm sure she'll get better," Donna defended Ainsley.

"Okay. Next question: Ms. Hayes," the moderator proceeded with the debate. "Your running mate, Ray Sullivan, has pledged to make reform of the United States Secret Service a priority if elected. What reforms do you think are needed for that agency?"

"The Secret Service is such an important part of our national security, and keeping the President safe, and of course it needs to be reformed and strengthened, as we've so clearly seen these past few months. Ray Sullivan and I will…" Ainsley paused, and then continued. "We have to protect this country. We can't be more concerned with reading terrorists their rights than with preventing further attacks against the American people. Ray Sullivan is tough on terror, and I will be, too. We will hunt down all those who wish to do our country harm. All of which goes along with reforming the Secret Service and making it better do its job of protecting the President."

"What?" Sam blinked.

"What's wrong with her?" Ronna demanded. Donna simply stood in silence.

Sam just shook his head. He was dumbfounded by Ainsley's responses, and really didn't know what to think. He wasn't proud of it, but he had to admit there was a part of him that was thoroughly enjoying watching her struggle, and not just because it was good for the candidate he worked for. He had taken no end of grief after that Capital Beat interview. People still occasionally made jokes at his expense about it, Donna's earlier remark being a case in point. Maybe this would finally put an end to all that.

Still, this wasn't like Ainsley at all. There had been rumors floating around that she had struggled in debate prep, but knowing Ainsley as Sam did, he hadn't taken them seriously. She'd done several news interviews since being named as Ray Sullivan's running mate, none of which could be described as particularly hard-hitting, but she'd performed at least competently in all of them.

"Ms. Cregg?" the moderator prompted.

CJ was clearly struggling to keep her own bemusement at Ainsley's responses from showing. "Well, I'm not sure I quite heard an answer in there as to exactly what Ray Sullivan and Ainsley Hayes would do to reform the Secret Service. I can tell you that Governor Baker and I also firmly believe the mission of the Secret Service is vital to our national security. Our interest would not be in pointing fingers, but in thoroughly examining recent incidents to see what could have been done differently, whether the agency could be structured in a more efficient manner, and whether there are additional resources that need to be allocated to make sure that the Secret Service can carry out its mission. Governor Baker and I would appoint a commission to study these questions and report their findings to the President and Congress. We anticipate that this process would be completed within the first six months of a Baker administration."

"Ainsley looks like a babbling idiot compared to CJ," Ronna observed, laughter in her voice.

"She's not an idiot," Sam snapped, a note of defensiveness in his voice that surprised even him.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm sorry for snapping at you," Sam sighed. His earlier smugness at Ainsley's performance was quickly fading, replaced by worry. The stammering woman onstage bore little if any resemblance to the confident, poised, articulate Ainsley Hayes he knew. He couldn't imagine that nerves alone were responsible for this kind of a performance from her. What if she was sick? Or what if she was going through some kind of emotional crisis that hadn't been made public? He found himself wondering whether her family was okay. Had something happened to her parents or to one of her sisters?

Another possibility was beginning to take shape in the back of his mind, but it made so little sense that he wouldn't even permit himself to entertain it.

"Ms. Cregg, the next question is for you," the moderator turned to CJ. "The situation between Russia and China over Kazakhstan has been relatively stable in recent weeks, but there is no guarantee it will stay that way. What would you and Governor Baker do to ensure the peace in that region?"

"As President Bartlet's Chief of Staff when this crisis began, I have been intimately involved with it from day one. Due to the excellent leadership of President Bartlet and now President Sellner, the Russians and the Chinese understand that any aggressive action they might take would be met with fierce pushback from the United States, and that's not what they want. Governor Baker and I will continue to keep our troops in place, something which is essential to preventing a war that could have global implications lasting for decades. We will continue to work through diplomatic channels to help the countries negotiate an agreement involving the oil resources in the area, something which will be viewed as fair and equitable to all." CJ paused. "None of these countries wants war. I firmly believe that. It would be devastating to all parties, particularly if God forbid nuclear weapons were to get involved. I am convinced, despite a lot of posturing from all parties, that they are receptive to US assistance in achieving peace and stability."

"Ms. Hayes, your response?"

"Listen, I think it's plain that Kyrgyzstan has a lot of oil. Oil that its neighbors want. But war must be avoided at all costs. If either China or Russia were to invade Kyrgyzstan, or each other, or if a nuclear bomb were to be detonated-"

"Kazakhstan," the moderator corrected.

Ainsley gave him a confused look. "What did I say?"

"You said Kyrgyzstan."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Kyrgyzstan. Kazakhstan. Whatever. Anyway, the point is, we need to keep all those countries over there in line. We need to be tough and not show weakness. We can't blink. When Governor Sullivan is elected, they're going to know he means business, whereas with Eric Baker, I don't think you can say the same. He's too intellectual and just not tough enough."

"Kyrgyzstan?" Ronna shook her head in disbelief.

"Surely you can understand someone making that mistake," Donna commented to Sam, although there was no more lightness in her voice. She was as baffled as the rest of them by Ainsley's performance.

"Yes, I can," Sam responded slowly. He had told Ainsley the story of his possible slip of the tongue with Karen Cahill years ago in a failed effort to comfort her after her humiliating first meeting with President Bartlet. It hadn't worked; she'd given him a withering look and shot back: "Yes, you're right; realizing that you may or may not have accidentally said the name of the wrong country while speaking to someone named Karen Cahill is exactly on the same level as having the President of the United States see you drunk in a bathrobe performing 'Blame it on the Bossa Nova'. I see now that you can completely understand how I feel."

She'd been right, of course. But the point was that she would have had that anecdote in her head if she was trying to…

Sam found himself studying Ainsley's face on the television screen. She was doing her best to look flustered and confused, but there was something else underneath that. He could usually tell when Ainsley was genuinely distressed about something, and at the moment he couldn't help but think she looked…almost pleased with herself.

"She's throwing the debate." Sam's voice was stunned but certain.

"What?" Ronna stared at him.

"You mean on purpose?" Donna demanded incredulously.

"Yeah." Sam's eyes didn't move from Ainsley's face.

"Why on Earth would she do that?" Ronna's eyes narrowed.

"I have no idea."


	30. Chapter 30

"Was it really that bad?" Ainsley asked with feigned innocence as she sat in a conference room at the hotel with Ray, Bob, and several other members of the campaign staff. They were discussing the evening's debate and the potential political repercussions.

"You mixed up Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan!" Bob snapped.

_Thank you, Sam._ "Yes, I realize that probably wasn't my best moment of the debate-"

"You looked like a complete idiot. Certainly not someone capable of being a heartbeat away from the presidency."

"Bob," Ray shot his campaign manager a warning look. Ainsley couldn't help but marvel at the pretense of chivalry. Knowing that Ray Sullivan had helped plan two assassinations, it always seemed hopelessly incongruous to watch him pretending to be a nice guy.

Ray turned to her. "Look, I'm not sure it's that big of a deal. It was a vice presidential debate. No offense, Ainsley, but people just don't care that much about the vice presidential candidates."

"This election they do," Bob reminded him. "Not only is there the novelty of the fact that, for the first time in history, both major party VP candidates are women, but given recent events…"

"People are taking the whole 'heartbeat away from the presidency' concept somewhat more seriously than usual," Ainsley finished.

Bob let out a deep breath. "What happened, Ainsley? I mean, I know you had some problems in debate prep, but nothing like this. You're smart. You've always been able to keep your composure on television. I don't understand."

"I…I guess I just got flustered. I mean, this wasn't your ordinary television interview. This was a vice presidential debate. I was going up against CJ Cregg, a former press secretary and White House Chief of Staff-" her voice broke off. "I'm sorry. I know I let the campaign down."

"Whatever," Bob turned to the governor. "Look, we're going to have to do damage control. I think we start by limiting Ainsley's exposure to the media. She was scheduled to be on _Meet the Press_ this Sunday; obviously we'll have to cancel that."

"I'm happy to do _Meet the Press_," Ainsley offered.

"Are you sure that's the best strategy?" Ray asked. "Wouldn't the best way to mitigate the damage from the debate be to get her right back out there? A few good performances in television interviews, and people will forget all about tonight."

"We can't take that chance," Bob insisted. "For now, I think we'll be okay. We'll take a little bit of a hit in the polls, but we have enough of a cushion that it's not likely to cost us our lead. But if Ainsley blows another television appearance…well, let's just say it would be bad. It would cement the idea in people's minds that she's a flake who has no business anywhere near the Oval Office – and that would come down on you, governor. People would question your judgment for having chosen her."

"I can't very well just hide in a closet until after the election," Ainsley argued.

"We can book you for a few appearances on FOX News. You can do some interviews with friendly conservative commentators; they won't let you look bad. Maybe you could put out an op-ed piece on national security or something, to show you're serious and have a grasp of the issues."

"And just hope the public trusts that I actually wrote it?"

"In a nutshell, yes. It's the best we can do."

"Don't you think people will notice what we're doing?" Ray asked. "Won't it be taken as confirmation that we don't think she's up to the job?"

"Our priority is avoiding another disastrous television appearance. As long as we can do that, I think we'll be okay."

Ray let out a breath. "All right. Anyway, it's been a long day. Why don't we all get some sleep?"

They all got up from their chairs. After Ainsley and the rest of the staff had left the room, Ray turned to Bob.

"There's something else we should be discussing, isn't there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, maybe we just cut our losses. Have Ainsley withdraw as a vice presidential candidate and step off the campaign."

"That would be a disaster, governor. The selection of a running mate is considered the first 'presidential' decision a candidate makes. You'd be admitting you blew that decision."

"We'd come up with an excuse. Say she has some sort of family situation or something. Maybe we could even blame the debate performance on that."

"It wouldn't work. No one would buy any excuse we came up with. And we don't have a lot of time, governor. There's less than four weeks until the election. Dropping Ainsley from the campaign would be a political bombshell you can't afford at this point."

"Right," Ray sighed. "Okay. Goodnight, Bob."

"Goodnight, sir."

Ray walked out of the conference room and back toward his suite.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Josh took a deep breath, bracing himself for the phone call he needed to make. Naming the in-the-works reconciliation center after Santos and Vinick had seemed like a wonderful idea sitting in the coffee shop with Rabbi Kline, but it meant he would have to call Helen Santos and get her permission.

He honestly didn't know how she would react to the idea. He didn't even know if she would agree to it. He knew her apology in Texas had been sincere; she was a nice person who had felt bad about having said something hurtful. But certainly she couldn't help but live with the constant awareness that her husband's decision to run for President had cost him his life, a decision that Josh had pushed him into. And Helen had never particularly liked him in the first place, Josh knew that. It was entirely possible she wouldn't want Matt's name associated with any project that Josh was involved with.

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of guilt and self-recrimination – feelings that, until the story had broken about the leaked intelligence on West Virginia White Pride, he'd had some success in pushing aside. The counseling had helped. It usually did, as much resistance as he generally put up to the idea of going. And the improved situation with Donna had helped even more. It had felt good to talk to her about what his father had said after the fire. It seemed right that she should know about it; Donna had always been the person with whom Josh felt most comfortable discussing Joanie. During the campaign and for the first year of the Bartlet administration, she had actually been one of a very few people in his life who had known about the fire. It was a subject he generally liked to avoid at almost any cost, particularly back then. Whenever anyone would ask if he had siblings, for a long time he would simply say no. Then he would feel horrendously guilty, as if he had just denied that Joanie had ever existed; so he'd stopped doing that, and instead had begun saying he'd had a sister who had passed away. He'd then promptly change the subject. He figured people didn't want to hear the story of a family tragedy in response to a casual question, and besides, he really didn't like talking about it anyway.

Except Donna hadn't let him change the subject. She'd asked about his family after he'd gotten back from his father's funeral. He must have sounded more emotional than he'd intended to when he'd mentioned his sister who had died, because Donna had let out a small cry, wrapped her arms around him, and said how awful it was and had asked when and how it had happened. He'd told her, his voice shaking with a vulnerability he was pretty sure he hadn't allowed her to see up until that point. She'd stayed up with him most of that night, sitting with him in his small campaign office, and they'd talked about their families and their childhoods and all sorts of other things. That had been the first time he'd really seen her as more than his young assistant, a college dropout whose spunk he couldn't help but admire. Though he hadn't come close to admitting it to himself at the time, that evening so many years ago had been when he'd begun to fall in love with Donna Moss.

So yes, it felt good now to be able to talk to Donna again. And he had begun to allow himself to believe, on an intellectual level anyway, that blaming himself for what had happened in the past few months was at the very least pointless and unproductive. That had been until the news about the leak had broken. Listening to pundits smugly debate the story, beginning their sentences with phrases like: 'Now, I'm certainly not suggesting President Bartlet is responsible for Matt Santos' death, but…", and then proceeding to suggest exactly that, was agonizing for Josh. President Bartlet _hadn't_ been responsible for what had happened. He had been constrained by the Constitution. He couldn't legally have done anything to stop West Virginia White Pride, but Josh could have. He could have sued the white supremacists. He would have won, and who knew how badly that might have crippled their operations? Those pundits were pointing the finger of blame at Josh every bit as much as they were at the former President, even if they didn't realize it.

He let out a heavy sigh, forcing his mind to stop wandering. He couldn't keep procrastinating. He picked up his phone and dialed Helen Santos' phone number in Texas.

She sounded surprised to hear from him, as he'd figured she would. In a tense, nervous voice, he explained why he was calling.

"That sounds wonderful, Josh," she responded, her voice filled with emotion. "Really. What a way to honor Matt."

"If you're sure," he added quickly. "I mean, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. If you'd rather his name not be associated with it, I completely-"

"Don't be silly. Why wouldn't I want his name associated with it?"

"I just-" he paused. "I just wanted to be sure."

"Of course."

"Good."

There was an awkward silence. "Josh, listen. It occurred to me that when you were here before, I was so busy putting my foot in my mouth and then apologizing that I forgot to say thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you did for Matt, and for our family."

"What I did-"

"You gave him an opportunity that very few people the world ever get. He ran for President. He was elected President. To tell you the truth, it still boggles my mind to even say those words. It truly was an amazing thing."

Josh was silent. He wondered if she could possibly mean that. Not blaming him for Matt's death was one thing, but could she actually feel any gratitude to him for what he had done?

As if in answer to his question, Helen continued in a faltering voice. "I won't lie. In my darker moments, I wish with all my heart that he'd stuck to his plan to retire from Congress and move back home, or maybe better yet that he'd never gotten the harebrained idea in his head to go into politics in the first place. But he loved it. He loved being able to help change the world in ways he never could have outside of the government. And just when he'd given up and had decided Washington, DC was too corrupt to be an agent for actual change, you came along." Helen paused. "He thought the world of you, Josh, he did. Even before you started working for him. He'd gotten so frustrated with the way the political game was played, but I think he saw in you how that kind of politicking could be used for good ends. And for awhile there, as far as he was concerned you were pretty much the only person in the Bartlet White House who seemed to be willing to push back against some of the shadier stunts the Republicans in Congress were trying to pull."

"I thought…" Josh was quiet for a moment, absorbing what she'd said. "He always seemed to get so frustrated whenever I brought political game-playing into the campaign. Which I understood. In a perfect world, campaigns would be all about which candidate is the strongest leader with the best ideas and the most integrity, but in reality, those just aren't necessarily the things that decide elections."

"It was a hard balance for him to strike. It was for me, too. I, very naively, wanted him to just be himself and trust that all of America would love him as much as I did, but…well, I guess that kind of thinking is why I'm not a campaign strategist." Helen was quiet for a moment. "And Matt always liked to argue with people. It's how he would clarify his own positions in his mind. And he did have a bit of a stubborn streak, I'll be the first person to admit that."

"I've been told I have one of those myself."

"I think he felt he needed to be stubborn, especially with you. He probably didn't exactly show it, but to tell you the truth, I think he was a little bit intimidated by you, at least at first. Someone as prominent as you, leaving a high-level job at the White House and turning down offers from both top-tier candidates in order to be his campaign manager – I don't think he quite knew what to make of that. But if he was going to run for President, he wanted to do it his way, and I think he was afraid that if he wasn't pretty assertive with you, the campaign wouldn't end up being even remotely recognizable as his."

"Well, there may have been some truth to that," Josh conceded. "I loved your husband's idealism, Mrs. Santos. It drove me crazy more often than not, but I loved it. It's why I wanted him to run in the first place."

Helen was quiet for a moment. "This center you want to open. You said you'll be needing volunteer teachers?"

"Yeah. At least at first. Eventually we'd hope to be able to pay them, but-"

"You know I used to teach elementary school before Peter was born," she reminded him. "I could help. I know the center will probably be based in DC, but I could travel to schools around the country, helping with the program-"

"Really?" Josh blinked in surprise. "I mean…you're sure that's something you'd want to do?"

"I need to be doing something. Believe me, I have way too much time on my hands these days. I mean, I spent the past year or so as a campaign wife and then a first-lady-in-waiting. Before that, Miranda wasn't in school yet, and I was a full-time mom while Matt was in DC. Now, the kids are both in school and, well, I don't think sitting around the house is very healthy for me. I'd love to be involved with something like this."

Josh was rendered momentarily speechless. "Mrs. Santos, I can't tell you what an honor it would be to have you involved with this. It would do wonders in terms of increasing the Center's visibility and bringing attention to its mission. Not to mention, of course, that I have no doubt you'd be absolutely wonderful with the kids."

"Thank you," she responded. "Although I do have one condition."

"Name it."

"That you start calling me Helen."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Some disturbing subject matter.**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So why are we here again?" Sam asked Donna as they stood in front of the entrance to Antique Tales, a bookstore near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Governor Baker needed to attend to some state business and get a little R&R, so he had returned to his home state for a short layover, and the campaign was taking a day off. Donna had decided to drag Sam along with her on her quest for a very specific used book.

"I told you: to get a present for Josh."

"At an antique bookstore? Josh is many things, but a rare book aficionado-"

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing." _At least I think I do,_ she added silently. She wanted to give him more details about why she wanted this particular book, but she couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to tell him and make him keep it a secret from Josh.

"Any idea what we're looking for?" Sam interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes." She handed him a slip of paper with the title written on it.

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't get it. Why would Josh want-"

"It has sentimental meaning."

"Okay," Sam responded with a shrug. "You do realize the odds of finding this book in this particular store aren't necessarily all that great?"

"I know. This is just our first stop. I looked up five other used bookstores in this general area. Surely one of them must have it."

"Couldn't you have just called ahead and saved a lot of time? Or found a copy online, for that matter?"

"Well, sure, I suppose, if I'd wanted to take the easy way out. But what fun would that be?"

"Right," Sam rolled his eyes. "Remind me again why I agreed to go with you on this little adventure?"

"Because, admit it, you love rare bookstores almost as much as President Bartlet does."

"Well, there's that."

"Here we are: if they have it, it should be in this aisle," Donna declared, turning and walking down the narrow aisle bordered on either side by tall shelves of dusty-looking books.

"And the search begins," Sam commented.

"So do you think Sullivan will go to the 'Make Your Voice Heard' event?" Donna asked curiously. The presidential and vice presidential candidates from both campaigns had both been invited to an event sponsored by the University of Virginia intended to increase youth turnout in the election. The candidates would mingle with college age kids, enjoying refreshments from a buffet and talking about the issues, and then they would each make a short onstage presentation. The whole event was going to be nationally televised.

"Not if he's smart. There's really no advantage for him, as far as I can see. People under 25 are breaking 60-40 for Baker. Increasing youth turnout can only help us and hurt Sullivan."

"Plus they seem bent on limiting Ainsley's exposure to the media as much as possible these days."

"Yeah." Sam tensed visibly.

Donna looked over at him. "You still think she threw the debate on purpose?"

"I know she did."

"Really strange," Donna commented. "But if you're right, I have to hand it to her: even when she's intentionally screwing up, she does it with gusto. That was quite a performance she gave."

Sam shook his head. "It just doesn't make sense. I've been trying and trying to figure it out, but I can't. Why would she do something like that?"

"Maybe she realized what we've known all along: that Ray Sullivan is not presidential material."

"Then why not just resign from the campaign? Staying on to try and sabotage Sullivan's candidacy – that's…" he paused. "That's not something Ainsley would do."

"Then maybe she didn't," Donna suggested. "Maybe she really did just have a bad night."

"No." Sam shook his head. "Something's wrong. For her to have resorted to this, something really bad must have happened," a note of fear entered his voice. "What if they're…Donna, maybe she's afraid of what would happen if she left the campaign. I mean, God only knows what those people are like. What if she's in some kind of trouble?"

"She has Secret Service protection just like all the candidates do. What would she be afraid of?"

"I don't know," Sam leaned slightly against one of the shelves, folding his arms. "But I have to find out. I have to find a way to talk to her."

"You know you can't do that. Not until after the election."

"Give me some credit, Donna. I know how to be discreet. But she might need help. At the very least, she needs to know that she has friends who care about her-"

"Oh, Sam," Donna sighed. "Didn't you learn anything from the Laurie situation?"

"What does Laurie have to do with anything?"

"Just that she's another woman who you thought needed rescuing by Sam Seaborn, and you thought you could do it without damaging your career, and not only did you get caught and nearly have to resign, but she also ended up being publicly exposed as a prostitute."

"Call girl."

"I've never been clear on what exactly you see as the distinction."

"And I got caught doing what?" Sam demanded. "Being a friend to her? Bringing her a graduation present? There was absolutely nothing illegal or immoral about anything I did."

"And yet, you knew exactly what would happen politically if people found out about it, which they did. Just like you know full well what would happen if you went to talk to Ainsley and the media got wind of the fact that Eric Baker's campaign manager had set up a secret rendezvous with Ainsley Hayes. It would be bad for you, and for the governor, and probably even worse for Ainsley. Especially if the people on the Sullivan campaign really are the monsters you seem to have decided they are."

"I know, you're right," Sam sighed. "I just…I feel like there must be something I can do."

Donna reached out and touched his arm. "I'm sure you're just letting your imagination get the best of you. The election will be over in a few weeks, and after that no one will care whether or not you talk to Ainsley. Whatever it is, it'll keep until then."

Sam just shrugged, looking away and gazing silently at the rows of books for a few moments.

"Aha!" he suddenly announced.

"What?" Donna turned in surprise.

"The book. Here it is." Sam pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to Donna.

She took it from him and studied it for a moment. "Perfect. Thank you, Sam."

"You're welcome," he responded as the two of them began to walk toward the checkout counter.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What did you think of the debate?" Ainsley asked Mark. She was sitting on the sofa in their hotel suite, and he was filling out some FBI paperwork at the small dining room table.

"I thought you were horrendous. In other words, congratulations."

"Thank you."

"So what's the plan from here?" Mark asked. "Keep acting like a flake whenever you go on TV?"

"To the extent they'll let me appear on television, yes. I'm booked on the Taylor Reid show for next week. That should be fun."

"Taylor Reid?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're prepared to screw up questions like 'tell me all about how much you love puppies and America,' I don't see how you're going to blow that one. You know he'll be fawning over you. I mean, God, the man makes Rush Limbaugh look like a moderate."

"If Taylor Reid has to resort to asking me about puppies, I will have achieved my objective without having to say a word."

"Good point."

Ainsley walked into the kitchenette and got a muffin, putting it on a plate before sitting down at the table across from where Mark was working. "I've been trying to get the governor to agree to go to the 'Make Your Voice Heard' thing on the 21st, but he and Bob are dead set against it. They've essentially written off the youth vote. And besides, they're worried that I may embarrass them."

"Which you would."

"I'd do my best."

Mark nodded. "The 21st? That's the day of the West Virginia White Pride thing I have to go to."

"Ahh. You'll get to meet the mythical Don." Ainsley smiled. "I'll tell the campaign you're taking a few days off to go visit family."

"That'll work."

"Still no direct connection between them and Sullivan?"

"I'm working on it. If anyone in that group would have inside information on the connection, it would probably be this Don person. Maybe if I can talk to him…"

"You think he'd blab to someone he barely knows that Ray Sullivan is a closet white supremacist who participated in the assassinations of Matt Santos and Arnold Vinick?"

"Not easily," Mark conceded. "But so far it's all we have to go on."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ray Sullivan paced nervously in his hotel suite. The campaign's latest round of national polling showed Baker closing to within four points of him. That wasn't the kind of momentum shift anyone wanted to see three weeks from an election. Bob Mayer had been right. Voters were taking the vice presidential candidates more seriously than usual this election. The debate debacle had certainly left a mark.

He still couldn't believe the way Ainsley had crumbled. He'd known when he picked her that she was no rocket scientist, of course. Women who looked like that didn't need brains to get ahead, whether in business or politics or any other endeavor. In Ainsley's case, her long blond hair and undeniable charisma had carried her to prestigious positions in the White House and on the Hill, and had won her a vice presidential nomination. But it was apparent now that her looks and charm had met their limit.

Her appearance on the Taylor Reid show hadn't gone much better than the debate. She'd given uncharacteristically stammering answers even to the softball questions Reid had lobbed. Ray didn't understand it. Ainsley had done reasonably well in her television appearances prior to the debate. But the pressure of the campaign was increasing, particularly now that every word that came out of her mouth was being subjected to intense scrutiny following the debate. Perhaps it was simply more than someone like Ainsley could handle.

He couldn't really complain, he supposed. That had been precisely why he'd picked her in the first place: he'd thought she'd be appealing to the voters, but more importantly, he'd wanted a relatively inexperienced, politically naïve running mate who would go with the flow and not ask too many questions, either during the campaign or once they got to the White House.

He picked up his personal cell phone, preparing to call his longtime friend Don Jacobs. Ray and Don had been college roommates in the early seventies, when the world had been changing in ways that had infuriated them both. People, particularly their college-age peers, had been high on notions of racial and gender equality – that was, when they weren't literally high on pot, heroin, or other substances, or engaging in casual sex, or participating in other immoral activities that both Ray and Don had always found disgusting.

He and Don had spent most of their freshman year sitting in their dorm room, talking for hours about their worldviews. Beliefs that had been germinating in the back of Ray's mind since his childhood, when as a ten-year-old boy he remembered hearing his father rant about the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and how it would be the end of the white race, never mind destroying individual freedoms, had found clarity and validation in his conversations with Don. People of other races and skin colors weren't to be trusted, he'd concluded. White people had a right and a responsibility to stand up for themselves; their survival depended on it.

At the end of that year, Don had dropped out of school. He was being indoctrinated by his professors, he'd felt, and there was other work that needed to be done. People who were troubled by the cultural decline needed to organize, and he'd decided he was the person to make that happen. He'd put fliers on telephone poles and had sought out like-minded allies, and in September of 1973, he'd held the first meeting of West Virginia White Pride.

Ray hadn't joined the group, at least not formally. He couldn't. He wanted to go into politics; that had been his goal ever since he'd been a child. And seeing the social and political changes taking place around him made him that much more determined to gain political power and turn things around. But the societal changes also meant that he had to be very careful about the people and causes he associated himself with. He'd realized even back then that he couldn't attend white supremacist meetings. He couldn't allow himself to be photographed with known white supremacists. He couldn't write or publicly say anything that was explicitly supportive of that ideology. To do those things would have made his life politically difficult even in the seventies, and it had been evident to him that, the way things were going, in another decade or two they would likely be considered disqualifiers for high public office.

So Ray had continued with his education and then gotten involved with politics, running for city council and doing his best to present himself to the world as a mainstream conservative, while Don had turned West Virginia White Pride from a meeting of eight guys in a living room into a national movement. The men had maintained their friendship behind the scenes, talking on the phone and occasionally meeting privately whenever they'd felt assured that they wouldn't be seen. They had both grasped the potential power of their arrangement. As Ray had begun to obtain higher offices, he became increasingly able to provide political support – if not explicit – to Don's agenda. The presidency had always been the ultimate goal. From appointing Supreme Court justices, to setting US foreign policy, to clamping down on immigration, to making it clear that he would veto any so-called civil rights legislation, the amount of good he could do for the cause from that office was unparalleled.

And now he was on the brink of obtaining that goal, a fact which seemed miraculous when he considered how close his plans had come to being thwarted. He hadn't run in the 2006 Republican primary because he hadn't thought he could win the general election. President Bartlet's approval ratings were sky-high, and at the time Ray had announced his decision not to run, everyone had assumed Eric Baker would be the Democratic nominee and that he would easily ride Bartlet's coattails into the White House. Ray had no interest in gaining a presidential nomination for an election he couldn't win. A person only got one shot at running for President. Lose, and he would be pretty much guaranteed to never again get his party's nomination.

Of course, after Ray had made his announcement, several things had changed. Baker had decided not to run, leaving Vice President Russell as the presumptive nominee. On the one hand, Russell was a much weaker candidate than Baker; on the other hand, he was more closely tied to the popular Bartlet administration. Then Arnold Vinick had announced his candidacy. Ray had immediately concluded that Vinick, with his appeal not only to independents but even to some Democrats who would normally never consider voting for a Republican, was perfectly positioned to win the White House. Then Matt Santos' dark horse presidential campaign had started to gain momentum, adding yet another variable into the equation.

Ray and Don had discussed the matter at length, and had come up with a plan. Ray's best shot at getting into the White House would be as Vinick's running mate, a position Ray had immediately, if subtly, begun angling for. They had both believed that Vinick would easily beat either Russell or Santos. After the inauguration, Don would work with fellow WVWP member Tom Kelsey to plan an assassination of Arnold Vinick, elevating Ray to the presidency.

If it hadn't been for the nuclear power plant disaster, things would more than likely had turned out like that. Santos' narrow victory in November had nearly destroyed the plan, until he and Don had realized that Leo McGarry's death created an interesting constitutional situation. They hadn't known for sure that Congress would authorize a special election in the event of the President-Elect's assassination, of course, but it had seemed like the most likely outcome. Even if Congress hadn't acted, the assassination would have meant Ray could have run in 2010 against Sellner or, more likely, whatever unelected buffoon Sellner might have managed to ram through what would have been an unprecedented nightmare of a vice presidential confirmation process.

But once the special election had been authorized, the path had been simple. Vinick would be the unquestioned Republican nominee. Ray had persuaded him to announce his intention to declare a vice presidential nominee before he formally announced his candidacy and gained Secret Service protection, arguing that the announcement couldn't wait. If Baker thought of the idea first and announced it, he would be the one who would get the credit and look like a leader instead of Vinick. Ray had made sure that he would be at the meeting at Vinick's home on the evening of the assassination. He'd swiped the senator's wallet from his jacket pocket when he wasn't looking, stuffing under a sofa cushion where it would be found later, and then had mentioned that he thought maybe he'd seen the wallet sitting on the floor of Vinick's car when he'd come up the driveway to the house. Once the senator had gone out to check, Ray had sent a short text to Don, who had been waiting in a car down the street to carry out the assassination. It had worked. Ray had gotten himself on television that night, making it clear to America that he had been Arnold Vinick's vice presidential choice and thus cementing his position as the new presumptive Republican nominee.

The dreams that he and Don had begun formulating together so many decades ago had succeeded beyond either of their wildest imaginations, Ray mused. WVWP was a huge success. There were now chapters in every state. The West Virginia chapter was the largest, of course, and the most notorious – purely coincidentally, as it happened, after some teenagers affiliated with the group had taken it upon themselves to plan the Rosslyn shooting.

In one aspect, Ray and Don had both been astounded at what the kids had been able to accomplish at Rosslyn. Evading the Secret Service and sneaking into that building had certainly been no small feat. But that accomplishment notwithstanding, the plan had been marred by incompetence. If the goal of the attack had been to kill not the President, but his body man, had it not occurred to them that they could have found any number of other opportunities to do so, when he wasn't with the President and wouldn't have had Secret Service around him? Who would go to all the trouble of firing on a presidential entourage without the goal in mind of killing the President? Granted, they had generated a lot of publicity, but that very publicity had overshadowed their stated goal. Surveys consistently showed that a large majority of Americans still believed President Bartlet had been the target of the Rosslyn shooting, and that most Americans had never even heard of Charlie Young.

Not that it had really mattered who the kids had been aiming for. With the guns they had used, even if they had been the best marksmen in the world, there was no way they could have shot with any accuracy at that range. They hadn't hit Charlie Young. It was pure chance that they'd hit the President. Nearly killing Josh Lyman had been a coup, but he'd survived, and while Ray had relished the rumors that had surfaced that Christmas about Lyman having some kind of mental breakdown as a result of the shooting, whatever had happened couldn't have been all that severe. He had, after all, kept his job.

Both Ray and Don had spent long hours thinking about what might have been. If those kids had acquired some guns that were up to the task at hand and had gotten some training as marksmen, they could have killed not only President Bartlet and Charlie Young, but also Zoey Bartlet, the rest of the President's staff, and maybe some of the mindless Bartlet worshippers on the rope line, too. The country would have woken up and paid attention. Everyone would have known in no uncertain terms that society could not continue ignoring and disdaining the white race without cost. West Virginia White Pride had always encouraged members to take matters into their own hands; the fewer the people who knew about a plan, the slimmer the chance was of getting caught. But since these kids clearly hadn't known what they were doing, they should have asked someone with some know-how for help.

Still, the Rosslyn incident had ended up having some advantages beyond the initial shooting. As governor of West Virginia, Ray had been given access to the intelligence the government had gathered on WVWP and other so-called hate groups operating in his state. At the time, he'd simply wanted to monitor what exactly the government knew about the organization. And that intelligence had come in handy; it had tipped Ray off to the fact that the government knew about the diner near Blacksburg, owned by a member of WVWP, where the group had often met prior to Rosslyn. But more recently, of course, he'd found a new use for the intelligence: leaking it to the press to damage the Democrats. The move hadn't been entirely without risk. It was possible that it would occur to someone investigating the leak that he'd had access to the intelligence and would have had a motive to leak it. But he was confident that he hadn't left any evidence. No one could prove anything. And besides, soon he would be President, and he could take steps to ensure that the investigation wouldn't go anywhere.

Ray let out a sigh, pulling himself out of his reverie. He needed to talk to Don about the Ainsley situation. There was no way he was going to let some 38-year-old blond bimbo destroy everything they had worked for.

"So what's going on with that running mate of yours?" Don asked almost as soon as he'd answered the phone.

"I don't know. I have no idea what the problem is."

"You'd better do something about it."

"We've already decided that she's not doing any more interviews before the election. We're keeping her out of the public eye as much as possible."

Don sighed. "The problem with hiding her from the press is…well, you know the problem. The media is already talking about it, asking how she can be taken seriously as a vice presidential contender if she can't even answer relatively simple questions in interviews. And they're casting aspersions on your judgment for having picked her. I know we wanted a lightweight in that office, but maybe we went a little too far."

"I can't fire her now," Ray insisted. "Bob Mayer thinks it would be a disaster for the campaign."

"It would be," Don agreed.

"So what else can I do?"

"You know what else." There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Don continued. "If something happened to Ainsley Hayes, she would go from flake to America's tragic sweetheart overnight. The outpouring of sympathy alone would sweep you into the White House in a landslide. And we'd make it look like it was a liberal who did it, which would be even better."

Ray let out a long sigh. The thought had occurred to him, too, but he had his doubts. "It would be pretty risky, wouldn't it? I mean, really, I think I'm going to win this thing regardless. We still have a lead in the polls and the Electoral College. But if you do this and get caught, and it in any way gets traced back to the campaign…"

"It won't be. The guy who does it might get caught, but it ends there. I know how to make sure he won't be able to implicate me. Or you."

Ray knew that was true. Don was good at covering his tracks. He made sure that no one associated with WVWP knew his last name. Whenever he made phone calls to members, he used pre-paid cell phones, a different one for each person he spoke to, and if the person was caught in anything illegal, he would destroy the phone so that the number could never be traced to him if the police found it on the suspect's phone. The ranch in West Virginia where he occasionally held gatherings was a rented property, and he'd rented it under an assumed name. He didn't live there; the only time he was on the premises was when he was hosting gatherings, and WVWP members would always thoroughly check for police stakeouts before Don would arrive. To his knowledge, one associated with White Pride had ever divulged any incriminating information about Don to the police. People were very loyal to him. And needless to say, Don was the only person associated with WVWP who knew about Ray Sullivan's connection to the organization.

"And this isn't just about winning the election, governor," Don continued. "Here you'd have a gorgeous, white, conservative woman, poised to become the first female Vice President in history, assassinated by a liberal hippie type who hates everything conservatives stand for. There would be a huge backlash against liberalism and liberal policies. To say nothing of the way it would further elevate the level of fear in the country. Think of it. Congress would be afraid to oppose you on anything, even the Democrats. It would make it a whole lot easier to accomplish the things we want to accomplish."

"You have someone who can pull this off?" Ray asked.

"There are two kids in Colorado – college kids. They're twins. Very committed, and I've been told they've talked about maybe wanting to do something more than just attend meetings. Either one of them would be perfect for something like this, I think. They have an off-campus apartment and don't really talk to anyone outside the movement. No one around them knows their political views, so we should be able to pass them off as liberals without a problem."

"Okay," Ray agreed, thinking. "When would we do it? Getting past the Secret Service isn't going to be easy, especially now that we don't have Tom Kelsey anymore."

"That's where I think I'm going to need your help, governor," Don said. "For your own protection, you know I usually like you to have as little direct involvement with these things as possible, but we don't have a lot of time to make other arrangements."

"What do you want me to do?"

"First, you and Ainsley need to accept the invitation to the 'Make Your Voice Heard' forum."

"You want to do it there?"

"It'll be perfect. The room will be filled with college kids, so he'll fit right in. And it's informal. People will be mingling with the candidates. Easy access."

"Yes, and because of that, the Secret Service will be doing background checks on everyone who attends. Will either of these kids pass?"

"They don't have criminal records, at least from what I've been told. The background checks will actually be to our benefit, right? Secret Service keeps a wider perimeter on protectees at an event like that." Don paused. "I already checked into getting tickets. They're first-come, first-serve, and they're going to be distributed this weekend. All I have to do is make sure our guy camps out in line."

"Sounds good."

"One more thing I'll need you to do, governor, since we don't have anyone else on the inside – you don't have to go through the metal detectors. I'll need you to get the gun onto the premises and hide it. Will that be a problem?"

"Shouldn't be. I have my gun collection at the Governor's Mansion. A few of them are...unregistered. Always good to have a couple of those around, as you know. We're doing a fundraiser in West Virginia this weekend, so I should be able to swing by and get it without anyone noticing."

"Good."

Ray was quiet for a moment. "So you really think we can pull this off?"

"So far, we've pulled off the assassination of the President-Elect of the United States and a former senator." Even from the other end of the phone line, Ray could tell Don was smiling. "I don't think Ainsley Hayes should be a problem."


	32. Chapter 32

"I'm so glad you came," Donna said to Josh as they walked together through the backstage area of the venue where the 'Make Your Voice Heard' event would formally get underway in a little over an hour. The large auditorium was filled with round tables as well as a large buffet. A steady steam of students poured through the main entrance into the already-crowded auditorium as a live band played.

"Hey, there's going to be good food. And music. Plus, you know, getting to lecture kids about civic responsibility. This is the fun part of campaigning. Leave it to me to just show up for that, right?"

"Oh yeah, you're such a slacker," Donna rolled her eyes.

"Still can't believe Sullivan is showing up to this thing. Bad move on his part."

"Maybe he thought it'd look bad if the Baker campaign was the only one here," Donna suggested.

"Sullivan accepting the invite turns the whole event into a way bigger deal than if it was just Baker. Both candidates in a room together? The media treats that as practically a pseudo-debate. And attention on an event like this can only help the Democrats. Plus, you know, the Ainsley thing. Do they really want her side by side with CJ again?"

Donna smiled and rubbed his back. "Good thing for us Ray Sullivan doesn't have you as his campaign manager."

"I'll say."

A broad smile unexpectedly formed on Donna's face. If someone had told her five years ago that she could ever find herself missing Josh Lyman's cockiness, she would have said they were crazy. But it felt like it had been ages since she'd seen that brash self-assuredness from him. She might have grumbled way back when about how it was going to be an unbearable day whenever that side of his personality made an appearance, but deep down she'd always enjoyed seeing him so happy. These days, needless to say, he didn't seem happy very often.

"So you remember that I'm taking you out to dinner tonight, don't you?" Donna asked.

"You're taking me out? I thought I was taking you out."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm taking you out. This is my treat."

"Is this some kind of feminist thing, or-"

"Hey. Watch it." She smiled. "I found this delightful looking Italian bistro online. The reviews said it was the best in the city. We have reservations at seven. This thing should wrap up in plenty of time for us to make it down there."

"What's the occasion?" Suddenly his forehead creased in worry. "It's not…I know it's not our anniversary. You know, any of our anniversaries. Believe me, Donna, I'm keeping track of those."

"It's not our anniversary. Any of them."

"So what is it?"

"Can't I just want to take my boyfriend out to dinner without there being an occasion?"

"Yeah."

She gave him an enigmatic smile. "But there is an occasion."

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Mark sat at a table in a medium sized hall at Don's ranch in West Virginia, a foaming mug of beer in front of him. He'd arrived at the WVWP event about half an hour ago. The room was already crowded, with some guests milling around and talking while others sat at the tables. Everyone had been offered a beer upon arriving at the gathering, with refills freely available at a bar that was set up in a corner. Many of the guests already seemed to be getting tipsy. Mark sipped his beer slowly, wanting to fit in but also wanting to stay completely alert.

The mysterious Don had yet to make an appearance. From what Mark had gathered talking to people in attendance and eavesdropping on conversations, he was expected to speak later in the afternoon. It wasn't yet clear to Mark whether he would be able to spend any one-on-one time talking to Don, but he intended to try.

"Hey, I remember you."

Mark looked up as a college age man sat down next to him, a nearly-empty beer mug in his hand. Mark quickly recognized him as one of the brothers he'd met at the White Pride gathering in Colorado.

"You're-"

"Scott. I know; no one can tell me and my brother apart." He took a gulp of his beer. "You made it."

"Yeah," Mark nodded. "Wouldn't pass up something like this."

"Isn't it awesome?"

"Yeah." Mark paused. "Surprised to see you here, though. Guess you were able to swing the plane ticket after all?"

Scott smiled mysteriously. "Something came up."

"Cool." Mark took a drink of his beer. "Do you know when Don's supposed to be speaking?"

As if in answer to his question, a man who appeared to be in his forties stepped onto a stage that had been set up at the front of the room, microphone in hand. "Thank you all for coming. As you know, our fearless leader Don will be speaking shortly. He wanted to be down here earlier so he could hang out with all of you for awhile, but some important business came up that he needs to attend to. But in the meantime, there's plenty of beer, so just relax and enjoy each other's company."

After the man had stepped off the stage, Mark turned back to Scott. "So this Don guy…does he have a last name or what?"

"I assume he does, but no one knows it. It's better that way. Most of us try not to use last names, not even with each other."

"Right. Government spies and all."

Mark spoke those words sarcastically, but Scott looked dead serious. "Yeah. They're everywhere. For all we know, they could have infiltrated us. They could be here right now with listening devices."

_If only he knew._ "Really? I mean, the government is really that interested in what you guys do?"

"Oh yeah."

"Wow. Well, my philosophy is that if the government is spying on you, you must be doing something right."

Scott looked at him thoughtfully. "Good point."

"So where's your brother?...Kurt?"

"He's…" Scott's voice trailed off. "Let's just say he has a project to do."

"What kind of project?"

"Not gonna say," Scott insisted, although Mark couldn't help but think he seemed like he wanted to tell him. He made a mental note to press him further about that as the event progressed. "But let's just say his project is why I got to come here," Scott added.

"Cool. Nice of him to help you get the plane ticket, I guess."

"Yep." Scott took a long swig of his beer, finishing it off, and then got to his feet. "I'm gonna get another of these. Be right back."

Mark watched as Scott disappeared into the crowd of people. He had been hoping to get information from Don, but now he couldn't help but think Scott knew something that could potentially be significant.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam and Donna walked though the backstage area toward some private meeting rooms which had been designated to each of the campaigns.

"Did I tell you it looks like we're actually getting a bump in the polls in Virginia?" Sam asked. "We're almost tied."

"That would be something – winning Virginia," Donna commented. "We're closing the gap in Ohio, too. All things considered, the electoral college could be looking worse."

"Yeah, but we're still down five nationally according to the latest tracking. It's really going to take some serious movement across the board to put us over the top in enough of the swing states to win." He sighed. "It's just not a good position to be in this close to an election."

"Well, anything can happen."

"Maybe…" Sam's voice trailed off as he glanced into a small room adjacent to the hallway. Donna followed his gaze and saw Ainsley sitting at a table in one of the meeting rooms, appearing lost in thought as she wrote in a notebook.

"Sam." Donna had a feeling she knew what he was thinking.

"Will you excuse me for just one moment?"

"Sam, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"I'm just going to talk to her."

"If anyone from the press sees you-"

"They won't."

"They've been coming in and out of here all afternoon looking for interviews."

"If they do see us, which they won't, I'll think of something to tell them. I'll just say we're coordinating some business between the campaigns or something. I'll be five minutes max. Okay?"

She sighed. She was sure this was a bad idea, but what could she do? "Okay."

"Maybe ten."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she called out, proceeding down the hallway as Sam walked into the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Sam!" Ainsley jumped when she saw him, startled.

He stepped into the room and closed the door. "Hi, Ainsley."

"What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?" She furrowed her eyebrows. "If there's an issue with the program for this afternoon, you should talk to Bob Mayer. He's the one in charge of everything. I…well, I'm to just do as I'm told."

"Doing as you're told: that doesn't sound like you." Sam sat down on a chair across from her.

She frowned. "What do you want, Sam?"

"I just want to talk to you. We're friends. I miss you."

She sighed. "We can be friends after the election. Right now, we both have more pressing matters to attend to."

"No, we don't."

"Look, I'm still not exactly clear on why you're here, but unless there's some campaign-related business, I think you should probably leave before someone sees you."

"Ainsley-"

"You really want the media flap that would ensue if a reporter spotted us meeting alone together?

"I don't care about that."

"I do. And besides, this event is getting underway in like five minutes, at which point we're both going to be expected to be in the main hall socializing with guests."

"This won't take long."

"No, it won't, because you're not going to leave, I will." Ainsley got up and started walking toward the door.

"Why'd you throw the debate?" Sam demanded as she walked away.

She turned to face him. "What?"

"You heard me."

She stalked over to him. "I most certainly did not throw any debate."

"I can tell when you're lying."

"I had a bad night, that's all, Sam. I'd think you'd be thrilled. You now have something to throw back at me should I ever dare to mock you over Kirkwood, Oregon again."

"Ainsley." He steadily met her gaze.

She looked away. "I'm flattered that you apparently think I'm so perfect that I could never, ever screw up at anything, but I did. Sorry to disillusion you."

"You mixed up Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan."

"They sound alike. Certainly you can't fault me for that. You did that yourself once, as I recall."

"Yes, I did, and I told you all about it. What a coincidence."

"Sam…" she sighed and sat down at the table, resting her head in her hands. "Just leave it alone, okay?"

"If you decided you didn't want Sullivan to win, you should have just resigned," Sam challenged her. "Staying on as the vice presidential nominee in order to try to sabotage the campaign – that's a little ethically questionable, don't you think?"

She jerked her head up to look at him. "Don't you dare lecture me about ethics!"

"What is it, Ainsley?" Worry filled his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Come on. It's me, Sam. I'm not Eric Baker's campaign manager right now. I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

"No, I can't."

"Ainsley, I swear to you I'd never use anything you tell me-"

"It's not that. I can't talk to anyone. Not about this."

Sam saw tears suddenly begin to well in her eyes, her defenses beginning to crumble, and his concern began to turn to fear. He'd been right; something awful had happened.

"Is it Sullivan? Did he…do something?" Sam began to feel sick as progressively more frightening possibilities began to occur to him. "Ainsley, if someone's…hurting you, or threatening you, then you need to go to the police."

"No. It's nothing like that, Sam."

He eyed her, trying to decide if he believed her. "Then what is it?"

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "I really can't tell you. I wish I could, but I can't. Please understand. There's too much at stake."

"Okay," Sam said softly after only a moment's hesitation. He scooted his chair toward her and tentatively put a hand on her back. At first she started to pull back, but then leaned in toward him. He pulled her closer and she rested a head on his shoulder.

"I'm so scared, Sam," she choked out, almost involuntarily.

"Of what-?" Sam stopped himself. "I'm sorry. You can't tell me; I understand. You don't have to."

She pulled back and turned to meet his eyes, her voice still choked with tears even as it was filled with a new determination. "Ray Sullivan can't win this election. You don't know how bad it would be. You have to stop him."

"Believe me, I'm doing my best."

"That stuff you said when he picked me about how I wasn't really qualified-"

He grimaced. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I wasn't trying to…I shouldn't have said it. I'm sorry."

"No, you don't understand. I want you to say more things like that, except I want you to go further. Be absolutely ruthless. In these, the last days of the election, I want you to do absolutely everything in your power to portray me as a complete ditz who has no business anywhere near the Oval Office; and more importantly, portray Ray Sullivan as being ignorant, calculating, and without the best interest of the country at heart for ever having chosen me for the second highest office in the land."

"Ainsley…"

"I mean it, Sam. It's that important."

He gazed at her, bewildered and worried as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. Finally he just pulled her closer, rubbing her shoulder consolingly. She sat in his embrace for a few moments before getting up to regain her composure.

"I'm going to head out to the auditorium. You should stay here for a minute or two. I don't want anyone to see us leaving the room together."

He nodded, watching her as she collected her notebook and walked out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kurt Stringer leaned his back against the concrete wall of the short hallway leading to the restrooms in the auditorium, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was standing at the corner where the hallway made a T and you could go right for the women's restroom, or left for the men's. He was positioned as far away from the people in the main hall as he could get while still being able to keep watch for Ainsley Hayes.

Kurt was clad in a "Baker for President" T-shirt and wore an assortment of liberal political buttons. There was one which read, "Abortion on demand is a civil right", another that declared, "No Human Being is Illegal", still another proclaiming, "Meat is Murder", and last but not least, a button which stated, "Religion is a mental illness." The apartment that Kurt shared with Scott in Colorado had also been adorned with liberal magazines, his internet browser history had been crammed with visits to leftist websites, and liberal writings had been placed in his computer. His makeover into a left-wing nutjob was complete.

So far, everything seemed to be working as planned. Don had told him the gun would be hidden in the men's restroom, in a waterproof container inside a toilet tank. Kurt had retrieved it just moments ago. The door to the backstage area was no more than 30 feet away from where he was standing, and he knew Ainsley would have to be coming through it any minute now. He'd already seen CJ Cregg, Eric Baker, and Ray Sullivan, as well as several staff members from their respective campaigns, come through the door to mingle with the guests, and the event would be formally getting underway in less than five minutes. Once Ainsley made her entrance, Kurt was in a perfect position to pull the gun out of his back pocket and fire it before anyone would have a chance to see what he was doing, let alone stop him.

He glanced down at the cell phone in his hands. He wanted to have the phone out so that if anyone noticed him loitering near the restrooms, they would simply think he'd stepped away to make a phone call or send text messages. It wasn't only a cover, though; he'd been instructed to watch for texts from Don in case there were any last-minute changes to the plans, and he was to contact him immediately if he encountered any problems.

Kurt found himself wondering how exactly Don had made all this happen. How had he arranged for the gun to be planted? Did he have a connection to someone on the event staff? Or – and the idea seemed far-fetched, but Kurt couldn't help but wonder about it – could he be working with someone on one of the campaigns?

Kurt knew better than to ask these questions, and Don certainly hadn't volunteered any information. When he'd called Kurt and Scott, he'd simply described the plan and asked the brothers if they would be willing to carry it out. With the changes to the apartment and the questions that would be asked afterward, the plan would necessarily have to include both brothers, and they had both been more than willing to participate. Kurt was more skilled with firearms than Scott, so he'd agreed to be the one to do the shooting. If he was caught – and he knew he probably would be – he'd been instructed to tell the police he'd managed to steal a jacket identifying him as event staff, sneak into the building after the Secret Service had done its sweep of the venue, hide the gun, and then get rid of the jacket. Once the plans had been finalized, Don had sent Kurt a plane ticket to Virginia. As a partial reward to the brothers, Scott had been given a plane ticket to go to the White Pride gathering in West Virginia, which was taking place at that very moment.

Kurt had never killed anyone before, but he was sure he could do this, even if a part of him didn't want to. He had long dreamt of carrying out an assassination in the name of White Pride, but not this one. He'd have loved to kill someone like Matt Santos, or even someone lower profile but who still richly deserved what was coming to him. But Ainsley Hayes was a white, Christian, Southern Republican woman, and a good-looking one at that. True, she wasn't innocent; she'd worked for Bartlet and had been willing to work for Santos, which meant she was hardly a friend to the cause. But those things had undoubtedly been more about her career than about ideology. It didn't make it okay, but it wasn't enough to convince Kurt that she deserved to die.

But Don had explained to him that this wasn't about Ainsley Hayes: this was simply what the movement needed. The assassination of Ainsley Hayes would guarantee that Ray Sullivan would win the White House. That had seemed to Kurt an odd reason for doing something this extreme. Sullivan was likely to win the election regardless, and in any case, White Pride wasn't primarily a partisan political operation, was it? Sure, Kurt wanted Sullivan to win, but he and everyone else he'd talked to in the movement fundamentally mistrusted both parties and government in general. Was it really part of White Pride's mission to carry out an assassination solely to benefit a political campaign?

It wasn't just about the election, Don had explained to Kurt when he'd brought up that point. The public would be led to believe that Kurt was a liberal who had killed Ainsley Hayes for being a conservative Republican woman who was about to become the first female Vice President. It would discredit liberals and liberalism in the minds of the American people, something Kurt could concede fit in perfectly with the goals of White Pride. Liberals were the ones who had given the country affirmative action, lax immigration laws and no border enforcement, welfare that primarily went to black and brown people, and all sorts of other social evils that the movement was fighting against. That was what had to be stopped. That was the bigger picture. Kurt took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain focused on it.

_Republican VP Candidate Ainsley Hayes Assassinated by Liberal Activist_. He smiled to himself as he imagined the headlines that would dominate the news the next day. Despite his qualms, he was certain this was for the best.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: This chapter contains offensive language, including ethnic slurs, and violence. Reader discretion advised.**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Josh?" Donna walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He'd gotten a plate of hors d'oeuvres and was walking toward a table.

"Yeah?"

"I think you need to get Sam."

"Get him from where?"

She sighed. "He saw Ainsley in one of the meeting rooms, and now he's in there talking to her alone with the door closed."

Josh smirked. "Yeah, well they're over 21."

"I'm serious, Josh! If a reporter sees them leaving the room together or, God forbid, walks in for some reason and finds them huddling and talking about debates being thrown – you know how bad it would be. People would say that Ainsley was collaborating with Baker to sabotage the Sullivan campaign. Ray Sullivan would look like a victim, Governor Baker would look corrupt, and we'd have a Republican in the White House. And not just any Republican. Ray Sullivan!"

"Okay, okay," he sighed. "I'll get him. Hold my plate." Donna took the plate, and Josh shook his head. "You really are starting to remind me of CJ, you know that?"

She smiled. "Thank you."

Josh walked toward the door to the backstage area. He had almost arrived when he caught sight of a young man who looked to be college age leaning against the wall in the short hallway leading to the restrooms. Even from several feet away and in fairly dim light, Josh could tell he was sweating profusely and breathing hard. He approached the man, noticing with a mixture of amusement and annoyance the array of political buttons he was wearing.

"Hey – you okay?"

"Yeah." The man's eyes didn't move from the cell phone he was clearly only pretending to be interested in.

"Seriously. You don't look good."

"I'm fine."

"You're really sweating. It's not that warm in here."

"What are you, my mother?"

"Hey, last time I saw someone who looked like you, it was right before he had a massive coronary, so-"

"I told you I'm fine."

Josh hesitated. "Okay. Well, there's a medical station near the entrance if you need it."

"Thanks."

Josh began to walk away, but couldn't resist turning around. "Hey, by the way, those buttons? Really not the best way to promote your causes. Your buddies may love them, but they're just going to piss off almost everyone else."

This seemed to annoy the young man. "Really, dude? You're attacking my buttons?"

"I'm just saying: look, I respect vegetarians, but I like a good steak, and that's not going to change. I don't think that makes me a murderer."

"Yeah, well, it does," the man retorted, but without much conviction in his voice.

"And calling religion a mental illness? Man, you're gonna make a lot of enemies there."

The man stared at him, his eyes narrowing. "I know who you are. I've seen you on TV. You're that guy from the Santos campaign."

"Yeah."

The man looked at him with what could only be described as thinly veiled disgust. Then he looked away again and muttered, "Well, you may be a big shot and all, but that doesn't mean you get to lecture me."

"I'm not lecturing you. Look, I love to see kids your age getting into politics. Beats apathy, that's for sure. But if you really want to make a difference, you have to be able to convince people who don't already agree with you, and insulting them tends to have just the opposite effect." Josh paused. "I wish I'd understood that better in college. I was a little hotheaded then, believe it or not."

"Whatever." Suddenly he looked past Josh at something in the main hall, and his anxiety level seemed to increase. His breathing turned into ragged gasps. "I have to go. Now."

"Hey, sorry if I overstepped-"

"Get out of my face, you fucking kike!"

Josh froze, stunned. He hadn't been called that word since junior high, at least not to his face. "_What_ did you-"

Before he could finish the sentence, the man shoved Josh against the wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and strode past him toward the main auditorium. Josh was dazed for a second, but looked up just in time to see the man pulling something out of his back pocket as he walked toward the crowd of people. A split second later, his stomach dropped as he realized it was a gun.

Time seemed to start moving in slow motion as Josh ran at the man. He was several inches taller than Josh, definitely more muscular, and in his twenties, so it could only have been a surge of adrenaline that enabled Josh to grab him, spin him around, and push him back toward the restrooms and out of the line of sight of anyone in the crowd.

The man fought back, and as they both fell to the floor, the gun fired. Josh didn't even realize he'd been hit until he saw blood gushing from his shoulder. With his good arm, he managed to slam the man's wrist against the floor, causing him to let go of the gun, which skidded across the floor and out of reach. As they struggled, Josh was vaguely aware of the frightened screams coming from the auditorium at the sound of the gunshot. In their location, he and the gunman weren't immediately visible from the main room. The Secret Service would quickly find them, Josh knew; the question was how quickly?

With a gunshot wound, it didn't take long for Josh to be overpowered. The man pinned him to the floor, restraining Josh's arms with his knees as he straddled him. His fist smashed into Josh's face once, then twice. Then he wrapped his hands around Josh's neck, squeezing hard. Josh felt panic course through his body as his air supply was cut off. He tried to struggle, but he was almost completely immobilized.

The hatred in the man's eyes when he looked at him was chilling. He dug his knee into Josh's bullet wound, grinning as Josh's face silently contorted in agony.

"Someone's going to die today," he hissed. "If it's not going to be Ainsley Hayes, then it's going to be you. You deserve to die more than she does anyway, you filthy, spic-loving Jew."

He spat in Josh's face. Then his grip on Josh's throat tightened, and a look of determination formed on his face. _He's going to break my neck,_ Josh realized, almost too dizzy from the pain and the lack of oxygen to feel frightened. As he braced himself for what was coming, all he could see in his mind was an image of Donna.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Panic filled the auditorium as the sound of a gunshot pierced the air. Donna sat frozen in her seat, all the color draining from her face.

"Head down!" someone sitting next to her at the table exclaimed urgently, but Donna still didn't move. Her eyes were desperately searching the room. CJ, Eric Baker, and Ray Sullivan, all of whom had been sitting at tables and talking with voters, had quickly been surrounded by Secret Service agents and were being rushed to a secure area. She noticed Ainsley being escorted away as well, from a position near the door to the backstage area. Sam was sitting on the floor and staring after Ainsley, looking dazed.

Where was Josh? She'd sent him backstage to go get Sam. Was he still there? He must be; she didn't see him anywhere in the room. She desperately wanted to go find him, but the Secret Service was shouting instructions for everyone to stay put. No one seemed clear on where exactly the gunshot had come from, but agents were quickly beginning a search of the auditorium and the surrounding area. Tears stung Donna's eyes. This wasn't fair. This was the third shooting Josh had been present at, and the second in just several months' time. How much more of this could he be expected to handle?

Suddenly there was a commotion coming from the restroom area. Donna couldn't see what was happening, but the words: "let go of his throat and put your hands in the air!" were clearly audible to everyone in the room. A second later, a team of paramedics was rushing toward the restrooms.

_Josh._ A horrible, sinking feeling formed in Donna's stomach. She didn't know how she knew, but she was absolutely certain that Josh was the one in trouble. She got up and ran toward the restroom area, terrified of what she might find but knowing she couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

"Ma'am, please sit down," an agent called after her, but she ignored him. Let them arrest her if they wanted to.

She arrived at hall leading to the restroom, and froze. She couldn't get past the swarm of agents that had congregated, but she was close enough to see Josh lying on his back on the floor, covered in blood. Several paramedics were around him, seemingly trying to revive him.

"Josh…" she mouthed his name, but no sound came out. She wanted to push past the agents and run to his side, but her legs didn't seem to be working. _He's dead,_ she couldn't stop herself from thinking as she stared at his motionless body. Josh was dead. She'd really lost him forever this time. She actually thought she might collapse until she felt an arm around her shoulders. She turned to see Sam, who looked almost as stricken as she was.

"Sam…" she choked out, burying her head against his shoulder.

"He's going to be okay," Sam tried to reassure her. She couldn't help but think he didn't sound like he believed it.

Donna looked back at Josh and felt a wave of cautious relief as she noticed him struggling to breathe. As frightening as that would normally have been, at least it meant he was still alive. She broke out of her paralysis and ran toward him, through the swarm of Secret Service agents who at the moment appeared to have bigger fish to fry than stopping her.

"Josh," she sobbed, kneeling at his side.

"Be careful not to move him," one of the paramedics warned. "He could have a neck injury."

She looked up sharply. "Why? What happened to him?"

"Are you family?"

"I'm his…" she paused. She thought about saying she was his wife, but several of the Secret Service agents around them knew Josh and would know full well that she was lying. And the paramedics wouldn't be likely to give out information to someone who identified herself as just his girlfriend.

"Yes," Josh croaked weakly. Donna nearly gasped at the sound of his voice. She tuned back toward him and gingerly took his hand in hers.

"I'm here, Josh," she whispered. "I'm right here."

"Me too," Sam added, kneeling at Josh's other side.

"Yes what, sir?" the paramedic asked.

"She's…family."

Tears began to stream down Donna's face. She wanted with all her heart to throw her arms around him and hold him as tightly as she could, but since she couldn't do that without risking further injury to him, she just squeezed his hand instead.

One of the medics knelt beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Mr. Lyman was shot in his left shoulder, apparently during a struggle of some kind with that man over there," he gestured toward the other end of the hall where a college-age man was handcuffed and being read his rights. "It appears he then sustained several blows to his face. He most likely has a fractured cheekbone. And then his assailant strangled him. We think he was trying to break his neck when the agents discovered them."

Donna's whole body went numb as she listened to the description of the attack. "_Tried_ to…break his neck?" her voice was tentative as she sought clarification.

"Based on our initial assessment, there doesn't appear to be any paralysis, but we can't rule out a cervical fracture or damage to the larynx until we get him to the hospital. And we can't say yet how serious the gunshot wound is, either."

At that point another paramedic arrived, holding an item Donna didn't recognize.

"It's a neck brace," the medic who had been talking to her explained. "We'll need to get it on him before we can get him onto the gurney."

Donna nodded, slowly getting to her feet so the paramedics could work on him. Sam stood next to her and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. She turned to him and saw the tears that had formed in his eyes.

"I hope he dies!" a voice called out. Donna and Sam both whipped around to see Kurt being led away in handcuffs by the agents.

"You bastard!" Donna screamed, losing all control as she raced at Josh's attacker. An agent grabbed her just before she reached him, but that didn't stop her from swiping her hand in a failed attempt to hit him. "You bastard. Why? You're scum, you know that? Complete scum. I hate you!"

Kurt just laughed at her outburst as the agents quickly led him away. Sam came up to her and wrapped an arm around her. She dissolved into tears, leaning against him.

Sam turned to one of the Secret Service agents, his voice choked with fear and confusion. "What happened? I mean, why did he…was Josh his target?"

The agent shook his head. "Based on the things he said while he was being arrested, his target was someone else. It appears that Mr. Lyman interrupted his plan."

"Who was the target?" Sam asked.

"Ainsley Hayes."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So, less than two weeks till the election," Mark commented to Scott, who was now on his fourth beer since he'd sat down with Mark. They'd been at the ranch for more than an hour, and Don had yet to make an appearance. From what Mark had been able to gather from others at the event, that was unusual for Don. He generally made a point of getting to know the people at his gatherings, having a few beers with them and talking to them. Mark couldn't help but wonder what the important business was that Don had supposedly needed to attend to.

"Yeah, man."

"Who do you think's gonna win?"

"Sullivan blowout."

"You think? I mean, I know the polls look good for him, but…"

"I'm not talking about the polls," Scott gave him an I-know-something-you-don't-know look. It was a similar expression to the one he'd had on his face when he had talked about his brother's "project."

Mark looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Scott smiled.

Mark took a sip of his beer, thinking. "So what's this project your brother was working on?"

Scott glanced at his watch. "It might even be done by now. Soon, anyway."

"What is it?"

"Really not supposed to say."

"Come on, man."

"You could be a government spy," Scott slurred his words slightly.

"Oh, yeah right. Do I look like I'm wearing a wire?" Mark lifted his T-shirt up to reveal his bare chest, grateful for the fact that people who had watched too many movies and cop shows still thought 'wearing a wire' meant you had to have electrical wires taped to your chest and a bulky recording device in your pocket. His small, wireless recording device was fastened to the inside of his shirt and was virtually undetectable.

"Yo, man, put that shirt down! No one wants to see that."

"Sorry."

"Let's just say something's going to happen tonight that will put the election in the bag for Sullivan."

Mark felt a slight shiver go up his spine. He didn't like the sound of that. "What?"

Before Scott could answer, Mark's phone rang. He answered it, walking out of the main room into a hallway to talk.

When he returned to the table, he was numb. It had been his supervisor on the phone. There had been a shooting at the 'Make Your Voice Heard' event. Josh Lyman had been injured, but the Secret Service believed the target had been Ainsley. The shooter's driver's license had identified him as Kurt Stringer, Scott's twin brother.

Mark had responded by telling his boss about his conversation with Scott. He'd asked him to send backup to the ranch, but not to have the reinforcements enter the premises until Mark gave word. Scott seemed to be close to talking, and he needed to continue their conversation until he got him to say something definitive.

He felt sick as he sat back down at the table. He should have known. Ainsley had been causing trouble for the Sullivan campaign, so what better way for these people to turn around what they saw as a liability? He felt a wave of guilt. He should have realized how much danger she was putting herself in with her attempts to sabotage the campaign. He'd cautioned her about blowing the cover if the campaign guessed what she was doing, but he had never thought Ray Sullivan might actually target her for assassination.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that Ainsley hadn't been injured and that he still had a job to do. He was certain that Scott had known about the shooting, and it was more than likely that Don was involved, too. That would probably explain his mysterious absence from the event; he was monitoring the situation, waiting for confirmation that the assassination had been carried out.

"Everything okay?" Scott asked.

"Yeah. Just my girlfriend. She's such a nag. You know, if I don't call her like every hour…"

"Women."

"Do nothing but drag you down," Mark pretended to agree. "Ray Sullivan should have known better than to pick a ditz like Ainsley Hayes for VP. I mean, geez, she's practically taking down the whole campaign with her idiocy."

"Don't worry about her."

"I am worried about her. I'm scared as hell of Eric Baker being in the White House."

Scott took another gulp of his beer, clearly enjoying the fact that he had some inside knowledge, and also clearly becoming progressively more intoxicated. "She's being taken care of."

"Taken care of? What does that mean?"

Scott chuckled eerily. "Let's just say: imagine how good it would be for the Sullivan campaign if some crazy liberal were to put a bullet into Ainsley Hayes."

"Well, I suppose, but unless some liberal takes it upon himself to do that…"

"Or someone who…" Scott paused. "Oh, what the heck. It'll be on the news soon enough anyway, if it isn't already. Kurt's project? He's at that forum thing in Virginia, and he's going to shoot Ainsley Hayes. Posing as a leftist to do it."

Mark swallowed hard, resisting the temptation to arrest Scott on the spot. He wanted to keep him talking; he might say more and implicate Don. "Wow, man."

"I know."

"So that's how you got the plane ticket to come here? Someone bought it for you as a reward?"

"Yeah. Don had a three-way phone call with us a couple weeks ago and laid out the plan. Both of us wanted to do the shooting. Man, I'd have loved to do something like that. So you'd go to jail. So what? You'd also be a hero and have a place in the history books. But Kurt ended up being the one to do it. I helped with the planning, though. Helped him set up our apartment to make it look like we were both crazy socialist types. As a reward, I got to come here. Kurt's reward will be his infamy, I guess."

Mark had what he needed to implicate Don, but he was going to keep Scott talking as long as he could. "Wow. So how the hell did he get the gun past the Secret Service?"

"Don took care of that. Don't know how he did it, but he told Kurt it'd be hidden in a toilet tank when he got to the event. Guy has connections, I guess."

"What about-"

"Man, you're nosy. All of this is in confidence, of course. I've already said more than I should. We don't want word getting out that-"

Scott was clearly done talking. Mark pulled his badge out of his pocket, placing his other hand on the handle of his gun, ready to draw it if necessary. "FBI. You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder."

"What the hell?"

"On the ground. Hands over your head." He put away his badge and grabbed his phone, which was doubled as a radio, to summon backup. A number of officers came bursting through the door, ordering the increasingly agitated gathering to remain calm.

"Find this Don person. Don't let anyone leave the premises until we've questioned him," Mark ordered one of the officers. He then turned back to Scott, who was still staring at him in shock.

"On the ground and put your hands on your head!" Mark's voice rose as he repeated the order.

Scott glanced desperately around him, but quickly concluded he had no route for escape. He did has he'd been told. A second later, he was being handcuffed and read his rights.


	34. Chapter 34

Donna sat numbly in a hard plastic chair in a private waiting room at the hospital, gazing at a small television set that was mounted in the corner. Details of what had happened were still sketchy. One of the college students at the event had captured part of the incident on his cell phone camera. The hallway leading to the restrooms had been toward the edge of the camera's view, and the student hadn't even realized he'd recorded the altercation until he'd reviewed his footage after the shooting. But once he had, in addition to giving the video clip to the police, he'd also uploaded it to You Tube, where the media had discovered it almost immediately. It was now playing in endless loop on all the cable networks. The footage had needed to be enlarged to the point where it was hopelessly grainy, but it had unmistakably caught Kurt reaching for what everyone now knew was his gun, and Josh – with no apparent regard for his own safety – tackling him and pushing him back, away from the crowd. The two men disappeared from the camera's view right before the gunshot could be heard.

On the way to the hospital, the news had broken of arrests being made at a white supremacist gathering in West Virginia. Early reports were that the arrests were in some way connected to the incident at the auditorium, but no one seemed to know any details beyond that.

"How are you doing?" CJ asked quietly, sitting next to Donna. Sam had gone down to the cafeteria to get coffee for all of them.

"I told Josh to go backstage and find Sam," Donna's voice was flat and somewhat vacant. "That's why he was…that must have been when he saw the shooter. Because I told him to go backstage."

"Don't torture yourself. This wasn't your fault. And he's going to be just fine."

"No offense, but I think I really need to hear that from a doctor."

"He saved lives. He's a hero." CJ paused for a moment and then added, "Just don't let it go to his head."

She'd meant it as a joke, but Donna tensed visibly. "He _is_ a hero."

"I know. That's what I said."

"And yet, you can't just acknowledge it without also taking a jab at him?"

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood a little."

Donna sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I guess my nerves are just a little frayed. I shouldn't be taking it out on you, though."

CJ was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, but you're right. I know I can be pretty hard on him sometimes. I haven't really been the greatest friend to him lately, I guess."

"I didn't say that."

CJ shook her head. "I don't know what happened. Ever since he left the White House, almost all of our interactions have been…well, 'adversarial' would be a generous way to describe it. We used to get along so well. I mean, sure, we'd give each other a hard time, but it was always in good fun. But then…I guess things just changed."

"Well, you had two different job descriptions after he left," Donna pointed out. "Yours was to be White House Chief of Staff. His was to get Matt Santos elected. Not that those roles were exactly in opposition to each other, but they didn't always necessarily put you in sync, either."

"Still, it didn't have to end up the way it did." CJ was quiet for a moment. "When he told me he was resigning, I tried to convince him to just take a leave of absence instead. He said if he did that, it would mean he'd be operating under the assumption that the Santos campaign was going to fail…which he was right about, of course. So I told him I understood, and then I said: 'well, when this thing runs its course, you know where my office is.' And he gave me this look and said, 'your confidence in me is beyond moving.' He tried to sound flip, but I know it stung him." She sighed. "I wasn't trying to…I just wanted to make sure he knew he'd still have a job. But it was a stupid thing to say. I was a press secretary. I know how much choice of words matters."

"I'm sure he knew what you meant. It was just a rough time for him. I think he was feeling insecure about a lot of things. Being passed over for Chief of Staff, the China trip…" she paused and swallowed. "Me leaving the way I did."

"I didn't take him off the China trip because of anything he did," CJ insisted. "I just thought it was my responsibility as Chief of Staff to be there, given how delicate the situation had gotten." She paused. "It was such a new role for me. Frankly, I was feeling out of my depth in a way I've never felt in any job in my life, and I just really wanted to do it right. And I knew if Leo were still in that office, he'd be going with the President under those circumstances, so I thought that was what I had to do."

"I know. I think Josh knew that, too. It just didn't make it any easier."

CJ was quiet for a minute, thinking. "The truth is, I never thought the Santos campaign would succeed. Right up to the convention, I didn't think Santos had a chance at the nomination. Once he did get the nomination, I didn't think he had any chance of winning the election. And I can't say I made much of an effort to hide that opinion from Josh, either. I just can't help but think…if the situation had been reversed, and he'd been made Chief of Staff and I'd gone off to run some dark horse presidential campaign for a candidate I believed in, he'd have been my biggest cheerleader. He wouldn't have cared what the polls said. During the primaries, he would have done whatever he could to support me behind the scenes; and if my candidate had actually gotten the nomination, he'd have made sure we had full White House support. He never would have treated me like…an annoyance."

Before Donna could respond, Sam walked in and handed warm cups of coffee to Donna and CJ. He took a seat across from them, slumping slightly in his chair and resting his forehead on his hand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam glanced briefly at the pained expression on Donna's face, feeling numb. The events of the afternoon were still a blur. He'd been walking about ten feet behind Ainsley when she'd stepped through the door into the main auditorium. Seconds later, he'd heard the gunshot. Instinct had taken over and he'd run for her, grabbing her and pulling her down. They'd stayed in that position for several agonizing seconds, holding their breaths in terror that the shooting was going to start again at any moment. Once it had seemed that the crisis had passed, they'd slowly sat up and Sam had started worrying about whether he'd hurt her when he'd pushed her down. She'd barely had time to assure him she was fine when she'd been swarmed by Secret Service agents, who'd quickly escorted her away. Then Sam had seen Donna running toward the commotion in the restroom area, and had gotten up to follow her.

Seeing Josh bleeding on the floor had been like a punch to the gut. It had felt like Rosslyn all over again. The parallels between the shootings felt almost eerie. Both times, he'd grabbed women he cared about and pulled them to the ground, feeling so heroic for having done so, while Josh had been left to fend for himself.

He knew that wasn't rational. There was nothing he could have done in either case to stop what had happened to Josh. But it still made him sick to think of his friend being beaten and strangled by that monster, with no one to help him until the Secret Service had finally discovered him. Had it taken them even a few more seconds, he knew they wouldn't be sitting in a hospital waiting for word on Josh's condition. They'd most likely be planning his funeral instead.

The door to the waiting room opened, and they all turned to see a woman wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around her shoulders.

"I'm Dr. Angela Corson," she introduced herself.

"How's Josh?" Sam demanded, a knot forming in his stomach.

She walked over and sat in a seat beside them. "Well, the good news is that there's no evidence of any kind of neck fracture. Now, being strangled the way he was can damage the larynx, which doesn't always show up right away, so we'll be monitoring him for that over the next several days. He has a minor cheekbone fracture, but that should heal pretty much on its own." She paused. "He's being prepped for surgery now to repair his shoulder. After that, we anticipate that his arm will be in a sling for about three months. He'll probably need a fair amount of physical therapy, but we're optimistic for a full recovery. Given the circumstances, he was actually very lucky. If the bullet had hit a few centimeters to the left or right, he could have lost the use of his arm or even bled to death."

"His mom," Donna said suddenly. "I don't think anyone's called his mom yet." In the fear and confusion following the shooting, she realized she hadn't even thought about it.

"Someone from the hospital called her," Dr. Corson assured them. "Josh gave us the number and asked us to call. He was even able to talk to her for a few minutes. She's flying up here now."

"So he was well enough to talk on the phone, then," CJ observed, thinking that had to be a good sign.

"He's undoubtedly doing better than he was doing at the scene," the doctor agreed. "A police officer came by about fifteen minutes ago and took a statement from him as well, and he was able to get through that just fine."

Donna closed her eyes, feeling at least somewhat reassured. "When can we see him?

"We're expecting his surgery to take several hours. Then he'll be in recovery, but as soon as he's up for visitors, I'll let you know."

"Thank you," Donna said as the doctor got up to leave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"The game's up, Don. You'd better start talking now if you want to help yourself out." Mark stood in front of Don, who had been discovered in an office near the back of the West Virginia home. Officers were making a sweep of the premises, looking for any evidence they could find.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Scott Stringer told us everything. He told us you conspired with him and his brother Kurt to assassinate Ainsley Hayes."

"He's lying if he said that. Why would I want to kill Ainsley Hayes?"

"You tell me."

"I didn't do anything."

"Hey, David, look at this," one of the officers came up to him and handed him a sheet of paper. He actually did a double take. It felt strange being called by his real name when he'd gotten so accustomed to being in his undercover role.

"Well, what do you know," he said as he examined the paper. "It appears to be the floor plan for Fairchild Hall in Virginia. And look: the restroom where the gun was hidden is circled in red."

"No idea how that got here," Don retorted smugly, folding his arms.

"The Secret Service recovered the case where the gun was stored: a Tupperware-style container wrapped in plastic wrap and packing tape to keep the gun dry. Your genius shooter just left it in the wastebasket in the men's room. Not that there was really any way he could have gotten rid of it in the time he had, I suppose. Poor planning on your part, wouldn't you say? But I guess the idea was for Kurt to take all the blame himself, and say he hid the gun, so you figured it wouldn't matter. Making a 22-year-old do your dirty work and take the fall: real man of you."

"I haven't been to Virginia in years. How are you figuring I hid some gun in a restroom there?"

"Interesting. I don't remember accusing you of hiding the gun."

Don seemed momentarily flummoxed. "I figured that's what you were getting at. But my question stands. I guarantee you'll find no evidence of me having travelled to Virginia recently, because I haven't."

"I don't think you hid the gun. I think you had someone else hide it for you, and we're going to find out who. We have your cell phone. Even if you might have had time to erase any information before we got to you, we'll subpoena the records from the phone company. It won't take us long to find proof of who your accomplice is. Not that we don't already know."

"And who do you figure it is?"

"Your buddy Ray Sullivan." David studied Don's face carefully for any hint of confirmation of his theory.

"Ray Sullivan? You mean the guy running for President?"

"That's the one."

Another officer approached David. "We finished going through the call history on his phone," the officer informed him. "It looks like he placed several calls to the cell phone recovered from Kurt Stringer, including one just two hours ago."

"That, Scott's statement, plus the floor plan – that's more than enough," David concluded, turning to Don. "You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ainsley apprehensively approached the door to the hospital waiting room, her head still spinning from the day's events. She'd just had a long conversation with Mark…David, she mentally corrected herself. They'd arrested Don and had taken him to the station for questioning. The FBI was still busily sifting through the evidence they'd gathered at the scene. So far they hadn't found a 'smoking gun' that would implicate Ray Sullivan, but some surveillance footage had caught him entering the men's restroom with a briefcase shortly before the event. That didn't prove anything, but it did seem unusual that he would have used that restroom rather than the nicer ones backstage. Kurt Stringer was claiming to have hidden the gun himself, but he couldn't give the police a coherent account of how exactly he'd managed to pull it off, and they were fairly certain he was lying. The surveillance footage, plus all the evidence from David's investigation, was being presented to a judge in hopes that it would be enough to get a search warrant and subpoena his phone records.

In any case, there was no longer any reason for Ainsley to maintain her cover. If Sullivan didn't yet realize he was under suspicion, he would soon enough. The undercover investigation would soon be public knowledge. Because of that, the FBI had given its approval for Ainsley to hold a press conference the next morning, where she would announce that she was resigning from the Sullivan campaign and tell everyone why. If nothing else, it would be enough to end his presidential ambitions; at least she could be reassured that he wouldn't be moving into the White House.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the waiting room.

"Ainsley," Sam got to his feet and walked over to her.

"Hi, Sam." She gave him a quick hug. "I hope you don't mind if I wait with all of you?"

"Of course we don't mind."

"Thanks." She paused. "How's Josh?"

"He's in surgery now, but they think he's going to be okay."

"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed, walking over to one of the chairs and sitting down. "I would have come here sooner, but I've been on the phone with the FBI for what feels like hours."

Sam was quiet for a moment, looking at her. "They said…at the scene, they said the shooter was…"

"He was targeting me. Yes."

Sam cringed at the confirmation. "What did the FBI say when you talked to them? I mean, do they have any idea why…I just don't get what happened." He sighed. "The shooter was wearing a bunch of liberal political buttons and I guess he claimed that was why he was targeting you. But then I don't understand why he would have gone after Josh the way he did. Even if Josh stopped his plot, why attack him so viciously rather than try to escape before the Secret Service caught him? And then these arrests in West Virginia, which are supposedly somehow connected to this, but I can't figure out how. None of it seems to make sense." Sam was vaguely aware that he was rambling, but he'd been trying and failing to put the pieces together in his head ever since the shooting.

"No, Sam. Actually, it makes perfect sense." Ainsley drew a deep breath and began telling them everything that had happened: the phone conversation she'd overheard, the undercover operation, and the thrown debate.

When she was done, there was a stunned silence in the room. Sam stared at Ainsley in disbelief. Whatever he might have thought of Ray Sullivan, it would never in a million years have crossed his mind that he was capable of this. It was terrifying to think that someone like that, someone so full of hate and bigotry and thirst for power that he'd thought nothing of murdering anyone who stood in his way, had come so close to the presidency. If it hadn't been for Ainsley, his plan more than likely would have worked; he _would_ have become President. Sam felt a sudden, intense wave of warmth, respect, and admiration for her.

Donna, sensing that Sam and Ainsley might want to be alone, whispered something to CJ, and the two women excused themselves.

"So this was what you couldn't tell me earlier," Sam observed once they'd left.

She managed a smile. "I'm just impressed by how easily you figured out I'd thrown that debate. I didn't realize I was being that obvious. I guess I should just be relieved no one else caught on."

"It was only obvious to me because I know you so well."

"You knew me for a couple of years during President Bartlet's first term. That was quite a long time ago."

"Two minutes on _Capital Beat_ was enough for me to know that wasn't you during that debate."

She turned and met his eyes. "Well, don't think I didn't notice how you tried to save my life, pulling me down when you heard the gunshot. It was very…heroic. Romantic, even."

He shook his head. "You're the one who was heroic. Going undercover, risking everything…your career, your reputation, even your life, to take that man down…"

"I didn't really have much of a choice."

"Yes, you did. No one on Earth would have blamed you if you'd just resigned from the campaign."

"The FBI needed more evidence, and that was the only way to get it."

"Like I said…heroic."

She sighed. "I don't know. I just feel so stupid, having allowed myself to be duped by Ray Sullivan in the first place."

"Ainsley-"

"I believed in him, Sam. I was so excited when he asked me to join his campaign. I thought he was for real. I thought he could be a great President, a conservative Bartlet even. How could I have been so dumb?"

"He fooled a lot of people, not just you. And when you found out the truth, you took action and stopped him. That's what matters."

"Well, what else was I going to do?"

Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking. "To tell you the truth, in the political climate we have now, where partisan loyalties are valued above everything else, I think there are a lot of people on either side of the aisle who, if they'd overheard a conversation like that, would have just ignored it – looked the other way rather than destroy their party's chances at the White House."

Ainsley looked at him doubtfully. "Let a murderer win the presidency rather than see their party lose an election?"

"Yes."

"I hope not."

"I hope not, too, but honestly it wouldn't shock me." He gazed warmly at her. "That's what always loved about you – your integrity. Your values. You're a patriot in the truest sense of the word. You have strong beliefs, and you're not shy about voicing them – and most of them drive me insane, and I still think I could talk you out of at least some of them if you gave me enough time – but the good of the country always comes first for you, before party or ideology or anything else."

"You're the same way," Ainsley told him. "You had a great job practicing law in California. You were pulling in huge sums of money. You were engaged, happy, you even had the freedom to take on clients you believed in rather than protecting oil companies…but you still left it all because you were asked to serve your country."

"Well, the 'engaged' part wasn't actually as great as it sounded, but…"

She glanced downward. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

She smiled softly at him. "Your ex-fiancée was a fool to let you go."

"No," Sam shook his head. "We didn't belong together. I think we both knew it. She was just the first one to say it out loud."

"I have a confession to make," Ainsley began. "When I heard during the transition that you and your fiancée had broken up, I knew that had to be very painful for you, and I was so sorry to hear about it. Except that there was a part of me that…well, wasn't."

"Well, I have a confession to make, also," Sam responded. "Given the fact that you were going to be joining the administration, there was a part of me that wasn't entirely upset about being single again."

Their eyes met for a long moment. Then Sam gently cupped her face in his hands, tentatively bringing his mouth to hers. She wrapped her arms around him, melting against him as, at least for the moment, painful thoughts of everything that had happened that day, and over the last few months, seemed to fade away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm Peter Wilson from the FBI," a man in a suit introduced himself to Donna, Ainsley, CJ and Sam, as well as Eric Baker and Ronna, who were now all gathered in the hospital waiting room. Josh had been in surgery for a little over two hours. His mother had lucked out and had gotten on a flight within half an hour of arriving at the airport; her plane would be landing in less than an hour. "I just wanted to update you on the investigation."

"Of course. Thank you for coming," Donna said as he took a seat with them in the waiting room.

"I imagine Ms. Hayes has already told you about the undercover investigation," he began. Donna and Sam nodded, and he continued. "We've arrested a man named Don Jacobs, who we believe helped mastermind the plot. Our opinion is that he was also involved in the assassinations of the President-Elect and Arnold Vinick, but we're still looking for enough evidence to charge him in those crimes."

"What do you have so far?" Eric Baker asked.

"Well, Mr. Jacobs owns a Ford Focus matching the description of the vehicle that was seen leaving the scene of the Vinick shooting. We searched his home and recovered a number of firearms; if any of those can be matched with the bullets that were fired at Senator Vinick…" he paused. "Anyway, we don't think at this point that Kurt Stringer had any involvement in the Santos or Vinick murders, but he's going to be arraigned tomorrow afternoon on charges of conspiracy to commit murder for the plot against Ainsley, as well as attempted murder, charged as a hate crime, for the attack on Josh."

Donna's mouth went dry. "A hate crime?"

"According to Josh's statement, Mr. Stringer made anti-Semitic remarks before and during the assault."

Donna and Sam both stared at the ground in disgust.

"What about Ray Sullivan?" Sam asked, his voice low.

"What about him?"

"Is he going to be arrested?"

"We're working on it."

"What does that mean?" Sam's voice got louder.

"Sam." Donna put a hand on his arm.

"It means we're still gathering evidence, but proving something like this is easier said than done. As I'm sure you've heard, we got a warrant and conducted a search of the hotel suite where he's staying, as well as the Governor's Mansion in West Virginia. We didn't find anything that immediately jumped out as incriminating, but we're still going through all the evidence. It looks like he's had a number of phone conversations with Don Jacobs over the past few months, but that doesn't prove he participated in the murders. We're hoping to get more evidence from his laptop or phone records, and we got him to agree to come down to the station for questioning, but so far we don't have enough to arrest him."

"So that's it." Sam stood up, becoming visibly upset. His rage at Ray Sullivan had been growing ever since Ainsley had told him what had happened. Whoever else had been involved, it was Sullivan who was the most guilty in Sam's mind. All of this – Matt Santos' assassination and the anguish Josh had gone through in the aftermath, to say nothing of Matt's family, Vinick's murder – a betrayal that sickened Sam to think about, Ainsley being put in danger, Josh being shot – all of it was because of Ray Sullivan's psychopathic quest for power. He looked at Agent Wilson. "Unless you manage to come up with some magical piece of evidence, Sullivan is going to get away with this. Is that what you're saying?"

"All I'm saying is these things take time, Mr. Seaborn. No one's giving up, believe me."

"He won't get away with it, Sam," Ainsley offered reassuringly. "His political career is over. The evidence that the police have now – ties to a murderous white supremacist group, recordings of him making racist comments to David during the undercover investigation, the phone conversation I overheard…all of that is going to be in the public record. The FBI search of the West Virginia Governor's Mansion is already all over the news. He'll never win another election again."

"Great. So he gets to retire to some multimillion-dollar mansion somewhere and spout his ideology over the internet."

"Sam-"

"He needs to spend the rest of his life rotting in a jail cell, and the only reason I say that is because I'm opposed to the death penalty, even for scum like him."

"We're going to do everything we can to bring him to justice, Mr. Seaborn, I can promise you that," Agent Wilson promised.

"I know," Sam sighed, calming slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just…hard to be patient, that's all."

"I understand." The agent got to his feet. "We'll keep all of you up to date on any progress in the investigation."

"Thanks."

Sam and the others watched quietly as he left.


	35. Chapter 35

Ruth Lyman sat quietly in the hospital waiting room with Donna, Sam, CJ, and Ainsley. She'd arrived at the hospital about fifteen minutes ago, after an airplane flight that had felt much longer than it was. Josh was out of surgery. The procedure had gone well, according to the doctor, and he was in recovery. They were just waiting for word that he was well enough for visitors.

She gazed thoughtfully at Donna, who was sitting across from her. It had been plainly obvious to Ruth that her son was in love with the pretty blond-haired woman long before Josh had ever admitted to any such feelings. For years, Ruth had taken it as a given that Donna felt the same way. She'd seen how shattered Donna had been after Rosslyn, and the way she'd cared for Josh afterward, going far beyond anything that could possibly have been in her job description. Ruth had understood, of course, that there were plenty of very good reasons why Josh couldn't make a romantic advance toward his assistant. Not only could it have damaged his career, and both his and Donna's reputations, but it would have been a terribly unhealthy way to begin a relationship. But whenever Josh had seemed willing to listen, she'd tried to drop hints that when he finally left the White House, his first order of business should be to ask that woman out on a proper date.

After Donna's abrupt resignation, when she'd essentially cut Josh out of her life – that had certainly been how it had seemed to Josh, whether it had been what she'd intended or not – Ruth had found herself sadly wondering whether she'd overestimated Donna's feelings for her son. Maybe Donna's reaction after Rosslyn had just been a response to the frightening nature of an attempted assassination, and to the fact that someone she knew and worked with had been shot, rather than a reflection of any romantic feelings. Or maybe she had felt something for Josh then, but had simply gotten over it and moved on, not even realizing that Josh was still hopelessly in love with her.

But now Josh and Donna seemed to have finally found their way. Especially in the last month or two, the happiness she'd hear in Josh's voice when he talked about Donna had been wonderful. Ruth had wanted to plan a trip up north sometime soon and visit the happy couple. She'd just never thought it would be under these circumstances.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Dr. Corson walked into the room.

"How's he doing?" Ruth asked.

"Very well, actually. He's on pain medication, but alert."

"Can we see him?" Ruth asked.

"Of course. He's in room 2605."

"Why don't you go up first?" Donna suggested graciously to Ruth. She figured Josh's mother might want to spend some time alone with him, and after a long plane ride, she didn't want to make her sit around in the waiting room any longer. "Tell him I'll be up in a few minutes."

Ruth didn't argue. In fact, she was pretty sure it was best that she got to see Josh before Donna did, and was pleased that Donna had suggested it so that she didn't have to appear pushy. She got up and followed the doctor through several long halls toward Josh's room.

She tried not to cringe when she saw her son. His left cheek was a reddish-purple color and badly swollen where the bone had been broken. There were ugly red marks on his neck. The hospital bed was in a nearly upright position, and his arm was in a sling and resting on a pillow, gauze and bandages wrapped around his shoulder. Still, she was acutely aware of how much worse it could have been.

"Oh Joshua," she sighed, walking to his bedside and pulling up a chair.

"I'm sorry I keep doing this to you, mom," Josh commented sheepishly.

"I'm just so glad you're going to be okay." She paused and glanced at his arm. "Does it hurt?"

"I'll let you know when the drugs wear off."

She gently squeezed his hand. "They keep showing the video of what happened on the news. Someone caught it on their cell phone camera, how you stopped that gunman."

"Oh my God," Josh groaned in embarrassment.

"I'm so proud of you. You were so brave. You saved lives."

Josh shrugged. "I just…happened to be there."

"And then you 'happened' to tackle a man with a gun. Even the people on FOX News are calling you a hero. Maybe the _Washington Post_ will do another front page story about you."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well for me last time."

"All I know is, I still have it framed in my living room. The 101st senator. My son." She gazed at him quietly for a few minutes. "Days like this I wish so much that your father was here to see you. He'd be so proud."

Josh's face suddenly changed in a way she didn't completely understand. "Yeah, I guess he'd be pretty shocked, huh?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Not shocked at all. Just proud. He was always so proud of you. Always. You were his pride and joy."

"No, that was Joanie," Josh responded, his voice soft and slightly wistful.

"It was both of you. He loved you so much." She paused. "I know sometimes he could be…hard on you, growing up. It was only because he could see how much potential you had, and he wanted the very best for you. He really thought the world of you. I hope you knew that, Joshua."

Josh didn't meet her eyes at first, but then turned to look at her. "Thanks."

She rubbed his shoulder, and they sat in silence for a moment.

"This reconciliation center you and Rabbi Kline are working on – I think it will be something really wonderful."

"Thanks."

"It'll be quite a bit different from what you've done in the past. You've always pretty much lived for politics."

"Well, part of the Center's mission will be advocating for legislation. There'll be plenty of political work for me to do."

"Yes, but you won't be working for a President, or a candidate, or a senator. Your focus will be on advancing a cause, not on a particular politician or party."

"Yeah," Josh nodded thoughtfully. "Sam said something to me awhile back about it being healthy for people to take a break from DC politics every once in awhile. Who knows, maybe he was right."

"I think so. Although you do realize this means Rabbi Kline will be leaving the Temple, right? The best rabbi I've had in more than five decades, ever since Rabbi Greenberg, who married your father and me, and you're stealing him away."

Josh grinned. "Sorry."

"Well, as long as it's for a good cause. Anyway," she continued, reaching for her handbag. "I brought what you asked for."

"Thanks," Josh said softly, his eyes focusing on the small box his mother had retrieved from her bag. She started to put it on the small bedside table. "Could you…ask the hospital to put it with my stuff? So I'll have it when I leave. Or maybe if you think it would be safer, put it in my apartment. You have the key, right?"

"Why?" Ruth looked puzzled. "I think she'll be coming up to see you any minute now. Won't you want to give it to her then?"

"While I'm in the hospital?" Josh demanded.

"Why not?"

"Don't you think that'd be kind of…tacky?"

"I don't see why."

"I'm not doing that."

"Well, I'll tell you what. I'll leave it here for now," she said as she slipped the box into a small drawer. "Just in case you change your mind."

He nodded. "Okay."

"Personally, I think the two of you have waited far too long already."

Josh smiled slightly. "Yes, mom."

They sat together quietly for a few more minutes, at which point Donna appeared in the doorway.

Ruth glanced at her, and then back at Josh. "I'll leave the two of you alone."

"Are you sure?" Donna asked. "I don't want to interrupt."

"Nonsense. You're not interrupting." Ruth got to her feet, leaning forward to kiss her son on the forehead. "I'll be just down the hall in the waiting room."

Josh nodded, watching as his mother left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So I take it you didn't get anything out of Sullivan," Jill Brent commented to the young agent who had questioned the West Virginia governor. It was approaching midnight, but no one assigned to the case would be getting off work anytime soon.

Jill had left the DC FBI headquarters as soon as she'd gotten the news about what had happened, and had arrived at the Richmond, VA FBI field office a few hours ago. Ray Sullivan had come in voluntarily for questioning, but the bottom line was that they didn't have enough to arrest him. Don Jacobs was in custody in West Virginia.

The case was quickly building against Don. One of the firearms recovered from Jacobs' home was a likely match for the bullets that had been fired at Arnold Vinick, although the forensics team was still doing analysis to confirm that. Meanwhile, officers were re-questioning Max Grimm and Tom Kelsey. Kelsey had so far been steadfast in his refusal to flip on Don, but Grimm, who had always seemed to be the less hardened and savvy of the two, had apparently concluded that the game was up when they'd told him they had Don in custody, and had acknowledged that the Santos assassination had been Don's idea. He hadn't been able to give them Don's last name; he probably didn't know it. But his description of Don's leadership position in White Pride matched Jacobs perfectly. He'd told them how Don had proposed the assassination plot to Tom, who in turn had gotten Max involved. Don had called Max the day before the shooting to offer encouragement. The phone number he'd called from had been traced to a disposable cell phone that hadn't been used since. The phone hadn't been recovered in the FBI's investigation, but they'd found out it had been purchased at a Wal-Mart near Don's home at around the time that the planning of the assassination had apparently begun.

The one thing Grimm hadn't provided was any information about Ray Sullivan. Frankly, Jill suspected no one other than Don knew of Sullivan's involvement. It made sense; that was the kind of information that Ray and Don would probably have kept to themselves so as to protect Sullivan's political career.

"Not yet," the agent answered her question about Sullivan. "He's admitted to being college roommates with Don Jacobs, and to having been in contact with him via telephone recently. He couldn't very well deny that; there were several phone calls placed from the phone we recovered from Don, to a phone found in Ray Sullivan's hotel suite. Both phones were the pre-paid type. He and Don probably figured they'd get rid of the phones if they thought they were under suspicion, but they ended up not having time."

Jill nodded. "Well by all appearances, Don was the one who shot Vinick, and he had to somehow know that Vinick would be coming out of the house at the time he did. Unless he'd just been planning on waiting indefinitely for him to come out, I suppose. But Ray Sullivan was in the house with Vinick."

"Yeah. Sullivan probably used the supposedly lost wallet as a decoy to lure Vinick out of the house, and then somehow signaled to Don that he was coming out," the agent concluded. "Probably sent a text message or something. We didn't find any text like that on any of the phones, but for something like that, they probably would have used disposable phones and gotten rid of them."

Jill sighed. "I should have put it together earlier. Sullivan knew Vinick would be at the house, and what time they'd all be leaving to go to the airport. He was the one who got him to go outside alone, where there wouldn't be any witnesses. And he had motive; Vinick's death made Sullivan the front-runner for the presidential nomination. It seems so obvious now."

"Yeah, well things always seem obvious in hindsight," the agent sighed. "Anyway, I think Sullivan knows we don't have anything. He claims that even though he and Don had been in touch, he didn't know about Don's white supremacist activities. He says he doesn't remember making the racist remarks we have recordings of him making, but he hinted at a drinking problem. He said he sometimes says things he doesn't mean when he's drunk."

"According to David, he didn't seem the least bit drunk when he made those remarks."

"Yeah, but no one can prove he wasn't."

"Sounds like maybe he's setting the stage for a political comeback," Jill mused. "Blame everything on alcohol, check himself into rehab…"

"You think he's so unconcerned about potential criminal charges that he's already shifting his focus to PR?"

"Starting to look that way," Jill sighed, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ray Sullivan?" Josh stared at Donna in astonishment. She was sitting by his bed, holding his hand, and had just finished telling him everything they knew about the assassination plot.

"Yes."

"He...had Matt killed…and then Vinick…just so he could be President?"

"That's what it looks like."

Josh sat silently for a moment, his stomach turning as he absorbed the news.

"And he could have succeeded," he finally said, his voice soft and slightly shaky.

"I know."

"Really. He could have…he came so close. He could have been President." Josh shivered slightly. Working for Jed Bartlet for seven years, one thing that had been obvious to Josh was just how critical it was for the person in the Oval Office to embody the highest levels of personal character and integrity. Although he'd never gotten to know any other President on a personal level, he suspected that few of the country's past leaders had ever lived up to the standard set by President Bartlet; but the thought of someone like Ray Sullivan, a murderer and a sociopath, in that office was horrifying. He didn't want to think about what the implications for the country would have been if that had happened.

He also tried to ignore the familiar gnawing pangs of guilt that began to surface. The whole plot had hinged on Matt not having a Vice President. If he hadn't been so close to nonfunctional in the weeks following the election, if he hadn't been so grief-stricken over Leo's death, so terrified about whether he would really be able to do the job without his mentor by his side, so utterly confused about his relationship with Donna…or hell, if he'd just allowed himself a solid night's sleep or two…maybe he would have seen the potential danger and been able to talk Matt into using the Electoral College. The arguments for political expediency that Barry and the others had made would never have convinced Matt; Josh had known that from the start. But the argument that it presented a security risk might have.

Donna seemed to sense how he was feeling, and gently brushed a lock of hair away from his face. "It wasn't your fault, Josh. There was nothing you could have done."

"Yes, there was," he responded quietly. "Matt needed a Vice President, right away. How could I not have seen that?"

"The Secret Service was responsible for his security, not you. If there was a safety issue, they should have addressed it."

"Still."

Donna gazed at him quietly. Knowing she wasn't going to talk him out of blaming himself, she just slipped an arm around him and rubbed his shoulder gently.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Donna drew in a deep breath, her heart rate increasing slightly. She picked up her handbag and opened it, taking out a wrapped gift.

"This is for you. I was going to give it to you at our dinner tonight."

"What is it?"

"Open it."

With his good hand, he slipped his fingers underneath the paper. Donna held the gift steady for him as he pushed the paper away to reveal a worn-looking book.

He picked it up and examined it, his brow furrowing in confusion. "The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing?"

A nervous smile formed on her face. "Yes."

"Is this your way of saying you want me to take you on a ski trip? I mean, I probably won't be up for skiing for a few months, at least, but I could go and hang out in the lodge and watch you walking around in your cute little ski suit…which doesn't sound so bad, now that I think about it…"

"No. Come on. That book doesn't look the least bit familiar?"

"It's…" he stared at it for a moment as the realization dawned. "Wait a minute. Is this the same book I gave you…"

"Our first Christmas in the White House. Yes."

Josh still looked confused. "I don't understand. You're…giving it back?"

Donna's heart melted at the touch of hurt that tinged his voice. "Of course not. I found another copy. I'd never give away the one you gave me. It was probably one of the nicest gifts anyone's ever given me."

Josh frowned. "A ratty old book was the nicest gift anyone's ever given you? I guess that doesn't say much for my gift-giving talents as a boss, or as a boyfriend for that matter."

"Not the book, silly. The note inside."

Donna felt a lump start to form in her throat as she remembered how she'd felt when she'd read that note. Without crossing any lines of boss/assistant propriety – not that she'd exactly have objected if those lines _had_ been crossed – Josh had built her up in a way no other man ever had, either before or since. He'd told her how grateful he was that she'd wandered into his office on the Bartlet campaign that day, how happy he'd been when she'd come back, and that he hoped she'd always remember how valuable she was, not only as an assistant but as a friend and a human being. His words had been so simple, so tender and genuine, that she'd broken into tears right there in the bullpen.

Over the years, she'd gotten the book out and re-read the note when she was feeling sad, lonely, or down on herself. It had always lifted her mood, at least until she'd left him to join the Russell campaign. One evening when she'd been feeling humiliated over the chicken incident, she'd gotten the book out and had read the note – and then cried for at least an hour. The image she'd carefully constructed in her head of Josh as a thoughtless, uncaring, egomaniacal boss had suddenly disintegrated. All of a sudden, she'd found herself remembering every sweet thing he'd ever done for her, from throwing snowballs at her window on Inauguration Day, to pretending to dismiss her desire for a presidential proclamation honoring Mrs. Morello only to do research on her former teacher, finding out things that even Donna hadn't known, and taking it to the President, to being with her in Germany, no matter what the implications for his career or even for the country might have been.

And then her heart had broken, and she couldn't stand to look at the note. Josh might have meant those words at the time he'd written them, she'd thought, but surely he'd wish he could take them back now, after she'd walked out on her job and on him so callously and abruptly. She'd tossed the book on the floor, curled up on her hotel bed, and had wept for what she'd lost.

The next morning, she'd managed to once again harden herself against those uncomfortable feelings, and had packed the book away where she wouldn't have to look at it anymore. Only after the election had she gotten it back out and re-read it, this time thankfully without the emotional meltdown.

Donna took a deep breath, watching Josh as he examined the book. "Don't you want to see what I wrote in it?"

"You wrote something?"

"Open the cover."

He opened it, his eyes scanning the short note:

_Dear Josh,_

_The nine years I've known you have been the best of my life. I meant it when I said I wouldn't stop for red lights. I love you. I want us to be together, always.. _

_Marry me._

_Love, Donna_

His breath caught in his throat. "Donna-"

Suddenly her heart was racing. "Look, I know our relationship isn't perfect, and it probably never will be, but one thing I know for sure is that I don't ever want to not have you in my life again. I knew that even before…today…but when I saw you lying on the floor and I thought…I thought maybe…" her voice trailed off. "Marry me, Josh."

Josh didn't say anything right away, and a wave of fear suddenly engulfed her. She realized she'd never even seriously considered the possibility that he might say no, but what if he did? What if nearly being killed had made him realize she wasn't the person he wanted to spend his life with?

He reached up and touched her cheek. "You're sure? You're sure…this is what you want?"

She swallowed, noting that he hadn't said the word 'yes' yet. "Is it what you want?"

A smile played at his lips. "Donna, look in the drawer over there." He gestured toward the drawer beside the bed.

She frowned slightly. Was he stalling for time? "Why?"

"Just do it."

She opened the drawer and found a small box that looked like a jewelry box.

"Open it," Josh instructed.

She pulled up the lid. Inside was a stunning diamond ring, small rubies set at either end of the diamond, mounted on a silver band.

"Josh-" Donna could barely speak.

"It was my grandmother's," he explained. "It's been in my family a long time. I asked my mom to bring it with her when she came today, which needless to say thrilled her. Frankly, for awhile there I think she'd given up on me ever having a woman to give it to." He paused for a moment, and his voice became slightly choked. "Of course I want to marry you, Donna. It's all I've ever wanted since…well, since a long time."

"Josh," she whispered again in amazement, her voice shaking. "So you…you were going to propose to me?"

"Yeah. I mean, I wasn't going to do it here. You know, I figured it'd be kind of crappy to propose from a hospital bed. Talk about trying to guilt someone into saying yes. That'd be worse than those douchebags who propose from the scoreboard at football games. Then the cameras go on the couple, and the poor girl knows she's going to get booed by 50,000 people if she says no…"

Donna cut him off by bringing her mouth to his and kissing him. She must have pressed a little too hard, because she felt him flinch slightly.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," she gently touched his swollen cheekbone.

He smiled. "Worth it."

She gazed at him, her eyes filled with love and amazement. "We're getting married. We're really getting married."

"Yeah," He squeezed her hand. "I wanted to ask you before now, really. I just didn't know…I mean, I didn't want to seem like I was pressuring you into anything more than you were ready for. But after…what happened today, it just didn't seem to make sense to wait any longer."

She smiled, carefully taking the ring out of the box and slipping it on her finger. The fit was actually surprisingly good; she'd have to get it resized slightly, but it was close enough to her ring size that she could wear it right away.

Josh beamed. "My mom's going to be so happy when she sees you wearing that."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Donna slipped her arms around him and snuggled against him. "So it wasn't too cheesy, was it? The book thing? I mean, men have it so easy. All you have to do is buy a ring and get down on one knee. Metaphorically, of course," she added, glancing at him. "Women, if we want to propose, we have to be so much more creative. It's really not fair."

Josh kissed her. "It was perfect. Absolutely perfect."

She smiled. "Good."

"Of course, I don't really see how anything that involves you saying you want to marry me could be anything but perfect."

She brought her lips to his again and kissed him, more gently this time, but still with all the warmth and tenderness she could manage.

"I love you so much, Josh," she whispered.

"I love you, too."

Without another word, she kissed him again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"We know you were working with Ray Sullivan," David insisted, leaning forward against the table in the interrogation room, across from Don. It was the morning after the shooting. He'd decided to let Don sit in his jail cell overnight before continuing the interrogation, hoping that might make him somewhat more willing to talk. "Ainsley Hayes heard him talking to you about the assassinations."

Don grinned. "You have no proof of whatever Ainsley Hayes might or might not have thought she heard. If you did, you'd have arrested Sullivan weeks ago."

"We know you and Sullivan were college roommates. And we know you're still in contact with each other."

"So?"

"We have recordings of Ray Sullivan expressing racist sentiments."

"Last time I checked, the first amendment hadn't been repealed. Yet."

"Did you know he's already trying to blame it on a drinking problem?"

"He doesn't have a drinking problem."

"Well, maybe not, but that's what public figures do when they want to rehabilitate themselves in the public eye, right? Confess they have a problem, check themselves into rehab, and then go on TV and cry. Who knows, he just might pull it off. Maybe even get back into elected office someday; stranger things have happened. You know he still thinks he can. Of course, he'd have to prove his conversion by going around the country preaching against everything you people claim to believe in, but he'd do that in a heartbeat. Faced with a choice between standing by his beliefs and trying to get power for himself, I think I know were someone as narcissistic as Ray Sullivan would come down."

Don just shrugged. He didn't look like he disagreed with David's assessment.

"Well, as long as that's okay with you. You take the fall for him. You get the death penalty, while he gets off scott free. And in return, he sells out White Pride for his own personal ambition. Fine. If you won't cooperate with me, I guess that's what we're left with." He got up and pretended to start leaving the room.

"I never said I wouldn't cooperate," Don called after him.

David turned back, trying to hide his surprise. "Okay. Talk."

"What do I get in return?"

"What do you mean, what do you get?"

"For telling you what I know. If I give you Ray Sullivan, what do I get?"

David sat back down. "What do you want?"

"I want the death penalty off the table."

"And that's it?"

"Yep."

"So you're afraid to die, huh?" David smirked, his head still spinning at Don's sudden turnaround. "I'll talk to the prosecutor."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the end of the day, an agreement was reluctantly reached with the prosecutor. Provided Don could lead them to evidence that resulted in the arrest and conviction of Ray Sullivan on first degree murder charges, the death penalty would be dropped. Don would plead guilty to the charges against him, and the prosecutor would recommend life without parole.

In return, Don directed them to his home in West Virginia. He'd hollowed out a tiny compartment underneath one of the legs to his kitchen table, which was covered by a wooden cap that would have made it almost undetectable even if the FBI had thought to look there when they'd searched the residence. In the compartment, Don had placed an SD card which contained recordings of every conversation he'd ever had with Ray Sullivan about the murders, from the original pre-election plan to kill Vinick once he and Sullivan won the election, to the plot against Santos, to Vinick's assassination, to the plot against Ainsley.

David watched as Don signed the statement in front of him, confessing to the crimes and implicating Ray Sullivan.

"Really stupid of you to have kept the gun you shot Vinick with," he commented to Don once the papers were signed. "That was a nice piece of evidence for us. Surprised you didn't get rid of it."

"Calculated risk," Don shrugged. "If I'd ditched the gun, you'd eventually have found it, and then you'd have had a lead when you didn't before. I figured if you ever got to the point of serving search warrants on me, the game was probably already pretty close to being up anyway. Besides, I wanted to keep the gun. For posterity. Natural impulse I guess."

"Apparently." David paused. "And just out of curiosity, what made you flip on Sullivan? I mean, selling out your friend just to avoid the death penalty? You're really that much of a coward? Obviously you were planning to do it all along if you got caught – otherwise, why keep those recordings around?"

"You don't understand," Don shook his head. "I'm not afraid to die. But White Pride needs a leader. It needs a figure to rally around. That has to be me. I can do it, even if I'm in prison. I'll write letters, I'll put out statements through my lawyer – it won't be all that hard. Besides, prisons are great recruiting grounds." He smiled and paused. "And as for selling Ray out…that's in the interest of the cause, too. Our goal all along was for him to become President, but that's never going to happen now. And you pretty much nailed it with what you said earlier. Ray believes in our cause, but what motivates him more than anything is power. I've always known that about him. It's a big part of the reason why I wanted Ainsley assassinated. It wasn't so much about winning the election. I thought he was going to win regardless. But he was going to need a Congress that was afraid to oppose him, because I knew he probably wouldn't have the guts to fight for our issues if he thought it would cost him too much political capital. Ray Sullivan is all about achieving power and maintaining power. That's why he was able to deny his white supremacist views for decades, with no qualms whatsoever, in order to protect his political career. And that was okay, at the time. We needed someone who could achieve that kind of power. But now I can't let him choose his own ambition over our cause, not when his political career is over anyway."

"So now that he's of no further use for you, you throw him to the wolves. So much for friendship, I guess."

"Oh, he's still of use to us," Don smiled. "Think of it: a governor, a man who was on the brink of becoming President, revealed as a white supremacist and charged with two assassinations and with plotting a third. He'll be arrested, tried, convicted, and probably executed. It'll be the political story of the decade, maybe the century. The amount of publicity West Virginia White Pride got after Rosslyn, the publicity we got after people found out we were involved in the Santos assassination – that'll be nothing compared to the publicity we'll get for this. And once he realizes he has nothing to lose, Ray will start speaking out openly in favor of our cause, I know he will. Half the country voted for him to be Vice President of the United States, more than half was ready to vote for him to be President, and now they'll hear him advocating white supremacy. All of a sudden, our views will start to seem almost mainstream. Believe me, this will end up being the best thing that's ever happened to White Pride USA."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam and Ainsley stepped into Josh's hospital room, where Donna was sitting next to him. It had been a little over 24 hours since the shooting, and she'd barely left his side, except when she'd gone into the waiting room and giddily announce their engagement to everyone.

"It just broke on the news – they've arrested Ray Sullivan," Sam reported.

"Thank God," Josh sighed.

Ainsley walked over to his bedside. "I don't think I've thanked you yet for saving my life. And who knows how many other lives you saved; that lunatic might have just kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. Maybe you saved Sam's life; you know he tried to take a bullet for me, right? In any case, thank you."

"Well, you saved the country from Ray Sullivan, so we'll call it even."

"Right."

"Seriously. Going undercover, throwing the debate in order to sabotage the campaign…that's just awesome stuff. No wonder Sam's always liked you so much."

Ainsley turned to Sam, smiling teasingly. "So you've always liked me, huh?"

"Well, you know. Liked as in…you know."

She laughed and wrapped an arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Josh's eyes narrowed as he watched the interaction. "Wait…wait a minute. So are you two-"

"Looks that way," Sam smiled.

"When did this happen?"

"Yesterday."

Josh paused, eyeing the couple. "You're still a Republican?" he asked Ainsley.

"Always."

"You're sure you don't want to switch sides?"

"Not a chance."

"Come on. Give me one good reason why not."

"You mean aside from the fact that I despise almost everything your party stands for?" she retorted with a smile.

"See, Sam? She said 'almost.' There's room for you to work."

Sam laughed and tightened his arm around Ainsley. Donna smiled and squeezed Josh's hand, at that moment feeling nothing but complete contentment.


	36. Epilogue

"I don't believe we won all 50 states," Josh commented for the umpteenth time that night. He and Donna had just returned to his apartment after an election night party at the Baker campaign headquarters. Josh had been released from the hospital a few days ago. His recovery was going well so far, better than the doctors had expected, in fact, but the process still felt excruciatingly slow. Having his arm in a sling was a source of constant frustration to him.

Still, at the moment he was in an excellent mood. In addition to the historic election victory, he'd had a meeting with Rabbi Kline the previous day. Tentative plans were now in place to open the Center for Reconciliation sometime in November. Zoey Bartlet had expressed an interest in being a part of it. Charlie would be starting Georgetown Law in the fall, and he was already talking about volunteering at least part time once it opened, possibly providing legal assistance to complement his coursework. Josh was excited about the way things seemed to be coming together.

"Well, what did you expect?" Donna asked in response to his comment, sitting down on his sofa.

"Utah. We even won Utah. I never thought I'd see the day a Democrat would carry Utah."

"Who else were people going to vote for?"

"True."

Ray Sullivan's arrest, and his arraignment on charges of participating in the assassinations of Matthew Santos and Arnold Vinick, and the plot against Ainsley, had stunned the nation and horrified everyone on his campaign. It had also thrown the Republican Party into disarray. The RNC had held an emergency convention and had withdrawn Sullivan's nomination, choosing Glenn Allen Walken to take his place, but the gesture had been largely meaningless. Sullivan's name had remained on the ballot in all 50 states; there was no way it could have been removed that close to the election. The best the RNC could do was pledge to ask its electors to vote for Walken when the Electoral College met, but it couldn't legally compel them to do so, and it was far from certain that all the Republican electors would have agreed to fall in line behind Walken. A number of states had laws on the books mandating their electors to vote for the winner of the state's popular vote, which, if the Republican candidate had won in any of those states, would have required those electors to vote for Sullivan. And given the confusion, it would only have taken a few rogue electors launching campaigns for their own favored candidates to turn a hypothetical meeting of a GOP-majority Electoral College into a free-for-all.

The prospect of a chaotic and unpredictable Electoral College deciding a presidential election had been unsettling even to the most hard-core Republican party loyalists. Turnout among Republicans had been historically low. Third party conservative-leaning candidates had made far-better-than-expected showings, often breaking into the double digits, but none had garnered enough support to actually be competitive.

"You really were wonderful on the campaign," Josh told Donna, sitting next to her on the sofa and wrapping his good arm around her.

"Thank you." She turned and kissed him.

"Baker had better have a great job lined up for you in the administration."

"Actually, I had a conversation with CJ this afternoon. She asked me if I'd like to be her Chief of Staff once she's confirmed as Vice President."

"Really? Wow. That's amazing. That's wonderful, Donna."

"I told her I was incredibly flattered. Then I asked if she'd consider me for a deputy legislative director position."

Josh blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I thought that would be better."

"You…asked for a demotion?"

"I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"How else would you look at it?"

Donna drew in a deep breath and turned to him. "Being CJ's Chief of Staff would have been a huge honor. But it would also have meant I'd have to be on call for her pretty much 24 hours a day. And…I've decided to go back and finish my degree. After that, I think I want to go for a master's in public policy. So I suppose working in legislative affairs would probably be better training for that than being CoS would, anyway."

Josh tousled her hair. "Degree or not, you know you're more competent than 99% of the people in this city with their fancy educations, right?"

"That's nice of you to say, but it's not really true." She paused for a moment. "Last November, after you suggested the deputy press secretary position to me, I did some research and looked at the other people you'd hired for comparable-level positions. Not only did pretty much all of them have years and in some cases decades more experience than me, but I would have been the only person at even close to that level without a college degree, one of only a few without a graduate degree."

"Yeah, but…" Josh thought for a moment. "It's not like that in every administration, you know. I know it was under Bartlet, and…would have been under Santos, but it's not always. I mean, McConnell, who was Deputy CoS before me – he never finished college."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Yes, and how many times have I listened to you rant about the incompetence and anti-intellectualism of that administration?"

Josh just shrugged, not really able to argue that point.

"You couldn't have hired me as deputy press secretary, not really. You know perfectly well what the media would have said: that you'd used your position to get your girlfriend a job she was underqualified for."

"Then they'd have been full of crap as usual. Donna, I promise you, I never would have suggested the position to you if I didn't think you were up to the job. I figured…you know, I figured if you'd taken it, we could have set it up so that you reported only to Lou."

"That wouldn't have been good enough. You'd have been _Lou's_ boss, after all. It would have meant there'd be a mini-scandal…or not so mini, depending on how good a job the Republicans did of spinning it…right out of the gate. It would have been bad for you, bad for me, and bad for the new administration. And you knew, that, didn't you? That's why it took you so long to offer me the position. And you only brought it up after you knew I already had another offer."

"That wasn't…" Josh began to protest, but he couldn't entirely deny it. "It wasn't the only reason. You'd earned a job in the administration. I wasn't about to not offer you one because of whatever was or wasn't happening with us. I was just…confused, I guess. About a lot of things."

Donna was quiet for a minute. "The truth is, I think I've been underqualified for every position I've been hired for ever since I went into this business. I had no credentials whatsoever when you gave me the job on the Bartlet campaign. Then once we won, you could have had your pick of any number of executive assistants, people with years of Washington experience, but you hired me, with my eight months or so of campaign work that included me flaking out on you to go running back to my boyfriend. I really wasn't necessarily qualified for as high-level of a position as Will gave me on the Russell campaign; I think he was just so thrilled that someone – _anyone_ – from the Bartlet administration was signing on with Russell that he didn't care. And I was definitely underqualified to be Helen's Chief of Staff. I did try to tell her that. I mean, I certainly didn't want to take advantage of the fact that, by her own admission, she wasn't even really sure what a First Lady's Chief of Staff did – but she insisted."

Josh had begun gently rubbing Donna's back as she spoke. "Every opportunity you've been given, you've risen to the challenge and then some. That's what matters." He paused. "But I think going back to college is a wonderful idea."

Donna nodded. "I've already started filling out my application to Georgetown."

"Well, if you need any letters of recommendation from any former bosses…"

"I'll be sure to let Will know," she teased.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well, I might have a hard time convincing them that your letter of recommendation was objective anyway, given…you know…" she smiled and played with the ring on her finger.

"Right." He paused, and a teasing smile formed on his lips. "Just one thing."

"What's that?"

"You're not allowed to get better grades than I did."

She grinned, slapping him playfully. "Oh, you're on."

"And another thing."

"I'm afraid to ask."

His face turned serious. "I want to pay for your tuition."

She smiled. "That's sweet, but I'm going to be making a good salary working for CJ. I can afford the tuition."

"I know you can. That's not the point. It's just that you…deserve it."

The smile faded from her face. "Josh-"

"You've had to put up with so much crap from men in your life…me included, God knows. I mean, it just makes me so mad to think of that son of a bitch letting you give up your education and taking your money to pay for his medical school when he didn't even…he obviously didn't even care about you, much less know how to treat a woman…"

Her face darkened. "You're not him, Josh. You're not responsible for…what he did. You don't have to try and fix it."

"I know that. But I'm going to be your husband. I should be taking care of you."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me." Her voice suddenly had an edge to it.

"I know. I know. That came out wrong, I guess. It's just that I…want to…take care of you, is what I think I'm trying to say."

Her heart melted at the look of tenderness and sincerity on his face. She leaned in to him and gave him a kiss. "I want to take care of you, too."

He smiled, looking slightly relieved. "I guess it's a good thing we're getting married, then."

"I guess so." She ran a finger through his hair. "I can't let you pay for my college, though. Okay? It just wouldn't be a good idea."

He sighed slightly. "Okay."

"But it means the world to me that you would want to. Really."

Josh responded by bringing his mouth to hers and pulling her into a long, tender kiss.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Danny and I have an announcement," CJ began, touching Danny's hand as the two of them sat at a small, round table in the East Room of the White House with Josh, Donna, Sam, and Ainsley, who had accepted the position of White House Counsel in the Baker administration. It was a week until Eric Baker's inauguration. President Sellner was holding a celebration to honor those who had served in the White House over the last several months, and also to welcome the incoming administration.

"What announcement?" Donna asked, although she had a feeling she knew the answer.

In response, CJ held up her left hand, which bore a stunningly beautiful diamond ring.

"CJ!" Donna squealed, pulling her friend's hand closer to get a better look at the ring.

"When did this happen?" Ainsley asked.

"Last night. Danny took me out to dinner and proposed over dessert," CJ explained. "You know, I figured since I'm going to be Vice President, as a single woman, it probably wouldn't look good to have my boyfriend hanging around the Naval Observatory at all hours of the day and night, so we might as well make it legal."

"Oh, really?" Danny arched an eyebrow. "So you only said 'yes' to avoid bad publicity, then?"

"Of course. What did you think?" CJ tried to keep a straight face, but her eyes twinkled teasingly.

"I'm so happy for you," Donna got up from her seat and gave CJ a hug.

"Well, I just want to make one thing clear," Danny declared. "I know I've joked about being 'Mr. CJ Cregg,' and I'm fine with that, I really am. But if you think I'm actually going to change my name…"

"No one's expecting that of you, dear," CJ responded.

"Look at that – she's calling me 'dear'. We're already like an old married couple. This is going to work out great."

"So, Donna and me…CJ and Danny…I guess that means you guys are next," Josh commented with a grin, gesturing toward Sam and Ainsley.

"Woah, slow down there," Sam laughed. "We've barely been together a month. One step at a time." But as he gazed at Ainsley, who looked absolutely stunning in her black evening dress, her hair pulled up stylishly, he was pretty sure it wasn't out of the question.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So I guess I'll be getting to see what it's like to be Deputy Chief of Staff after all," Sam commented to Josh. The two men stood together near the back of the room, holding glasses of champagne as the party wound down.

"Baker should have made you Chief of Staff."

"He and Robinson have known each other for ages. He's been Baker's CoS ever since he was elected governor. I can't really blame him for wanting to bring him to over to the White House with him."

"Robinson knows nothing about Washington politics. He's only worked in state government, which isn't the same, believe me. Baker will be wishing he'd picked you within a month."

"Nah. I think it'll work out fine. It's probably for the best, actually" Sam took a sip of his champagne. "I told him when I accepted the Deputy CoS position that I'd give him a year, but after that I have other plans."

Josh looked up in surprise. "What other plans?"

Sam was quiet for a minute. "Senator Stockholm's term is up in two years. He's 82; no one thinks he's going to run for another term. There will be an open Senate seat in California."

"You're going to run?"

"Maybe."

"You'd be great."

"Well, I guess it probably makes me a glutton for punishment, given the way I got whomped in the 47th, but…"

"You lost by six points in one of the most conservative districts in the state. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Except for the fact that a Democrat who was _dead_ had just won that district. A dead guy outperformed me."

"It would have been all wrong for you, anyway – that congressional seat," Josh mused. "A district like that, they'd have tried to push you so far to the right…and you'd have had to either go with the flow or be a one-term congressman."

"Be a phony or a loser: heck of a choice."

"Exactly."

"Do you think I could win?" Sam asked seriously. "If I ran for the Senate?"

"I do." Josh looked intently at his friend, the wheels in his brain turning. "Then you serve a term or two …and after that, well, who knows?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Come on. Don't tell me you haven't thought of it."

"No, I have. I definitely have." Sam paused for a moment. "President Bartlet told me once that I was going to run for President some day. I thought he was crazy. Not because I wouldn't want to, but I just couldn't imagine myself ever getting that far in politics."

"Well, start imagining it."

"What about you?" Sam asked. "You ever think of running for something?"

"Hell, no."

"Why not?"

"It's just…it's not what I do." Josh thought for a moment. "Matt told me once…a long time ago, before I was even working for him…I guess he was trying to console me on being passed over for Chief of Staff – not that I needed consoling. I was fine with it, for the record. But anyway, he told me that the kind of politicking that was my job as Deputy CoS…strong-arming senators, that sort of thing...he said that was what I was good at, and what I loved. I think he even said it was what I was born to do. He barely even knew me at the time, but he was right. I do love it." He paused. "And that's fine, for a guy in my position. But the person who's actually elected to office, whether a congressman, or a senator, or especially a President…they shouldn't love that. They should be driven by ideals, and have a vision for the country…and they need guys like me to turn that vision into reality, but they shouldn't be about raw partisanship." Josh was quiet for a minute. "I know I've sometimes crossed the line, doing what I do, both politically and…sometimes ethically. I don't mean to. It's just not always clear to me in the heat of the moment where the line is. But I've always justified it with the knowledge that I was working for someone great, someone like President Bartlet, whose vision was worth getting my hands dirty for. I guess that's one of the reasons why it's so important for me to work for someone I believe in. It's why I couldn't work for Russell or Hoynes. If I were doing the kinds of things I do for someone who was _more _crassly political than myself…well, I guess that would make me just another Washington sleaze."

"You could never be that," Sam said sincerely. "And besides, I have a feeling your idealistic side will be getting a workout with the Center for Reconciliation."

"Well, that's probably true," Josh agreed. "Anyway, President Bartlet was right. You're going to run for President some day, Sam. And you're going to win."

Sam's eyes met Josh's. "Then I guess it's a good thing I have a best friend who's smarter than me."

He patted Josh on the shoulder, and then walked across the room toward where Ainsley was standing. Despite the tragedy that had marked the past several months, he felt a renewed sense of optimism at what the future might hold for all of them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has read and/or reviewed this story! It's certainly been quite an experience to write, and your feedback has been wonderful.**


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